


The Fall

by rubygirl29



Series: I Lived [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <i>The Winter Soldier</i> and the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers assemble to put their lives back together. Like true love, the way home is never smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Between Part One and this part, AoS aired the amazing conclusion to S.1 which totally threw off my plan … so … This is less AoS and more Avengers oriented. I've never written from Steve's POV. I hope you like. Also, even though Tony was trying to get to Bruce and Thor, they may not show up in this story as Steve and Clint are taking over. Coulson will be taking his team back to finish business with Garrett and HYDRA and Natasha is working with Tony (yeah, gasoline and matches) to find Bucky. I guess it's a little like the breaking of the Fellowship with less death and angst … and no Hobbits.
> 
> Sorry about the short length of this part. There will be more chapters as soon as I have more time to write. I didn't want to keep y'all waiting any longer.

Chapter 1

_I hope when you take that jump you don't feel the fall ..._

It's not that Steve is invulnerable; it's that the serum heals him so quickly that it only seems that he can't be injured. He, like any other human, needs rest and food and occasionally medical intervention in order for the serum to do its magic. 

His injuries were severe. He would be dead without the serum, he would be dead if Bucky (he still can't think of him as the Winter Soldier) hadn't dragged him to the riverbank, instead of leaving him to drown. He still couldn't wrap his brain around that duality. 

"Here, you need to eat." Natasha sets a plate with a roast beef sandwich on it in front of him and pours him a glass of milk. "I don't know how the serum works, but I know enough about how my body works. I still need food and time to recover when I've been hurt."

Steve looks at the sandwich. "Do you think he's hurt?"

Natasha shakes her head and puts her hand on his arm. "You can't think of him as your friend. The people who made him what he is — they don't think he's even human, much less capable of feeling pain or emotions."

"Is that what you were like?"

"I was until Clint captured me. He could have killed me, but he didn't. I was hurt and weak, I would have been an easy kill. Instead he offered to help me. Of course, at that time I thought he had ulterior motives. I thought he wanted to own me, to use me. I fought him until I couldn't. Then he carried me out of the bunker and handed me to Coulson." 

"He's a good man?" Steve asks, though he knows the answer. 

"He the kind of man who does the hard thing, the right thing, and we all thought it had gotten him killed."

"About that … I was 'dead' for more than seventy years. It didn't change who I was, how I felt. So, take it easy on Coulson. What happened, what Fury did, wasn't his choice."

"I know that," Natasha says. "I understand." She leans in and kisses his cheek. "For what it's worth, it wasn't James' either." When Steve looks up at her in surprise she pats him on the head. "Eat your sandwich. Coulson wants to have a meeting in an hour."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Coulson looks as exhausted as he did earlier, but more at ease as he waits for the group to gather. Clint is perched on the windowsill watching him, and Steve can see the relief in every line of his body. Fury had kept Clint away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and the other Avengers as much as possible, but in the few times Steve had seen him, he had looked haunted, uncertain. Those emotions are gone, replaced by a relaxed watchfulness. He's focused on Coulson, he doesn't even look away when Steve comes into the room followed by Natasha.

Tony is pacing, too much energy in his wiry frame to be contained in stillness. Coulson't team is sitting together at the table where Skye is tapping away at her laptop while Fitz and Simmons (Tony is already calling them science twins) look over her shoulder. Melinda May tilts her head towards Natasha who slides in next to her on the couch. It's the scariest sight Steve has seen in a while. 

Coulson looks calm, but there is a steely resolve in his eyes; the government functionary in the plain dark suit has become as much a warrior as Trip, as Clint, as himself … as … _Bucky_. Phil is like the men in the Howling Commandos — the ordinary American guys who left homes and family and jobs behind to take up arms and fight for what was right and good in this world. They weren't soldiers, but they became heroes. 

"What is your plan, sir?" Steve asks, because he's starting to feel as if he doesn't ask it, nobody will. Nobody wants to look for traitors in their midst or to dig up the long-dead ghost of an organization they had believed to have been destroyed seventy years ago. 

Before Coulson can start in on details, Skye interrupts. "A.C., I think you ought to see this …" She turns the laptop. "I thought maybe I might find something on the D.C. security cameras that would help us trace higher echelon Hydra agents. Instead, I found … this. 

Steve moves closer to the screen. It shows a tall man in a worn hoodie and baseball cap with long dark hair hanging about his face. One arm is in the pocket of the hoodie, the other is wrapped close to his side. He looks homeless, lost, as he climbs the steps to the Smithsonian. 

"Bucky," Steve breathes. 

"The Winter Soldier," Natasha's corrects him. Her voice cuts through the silence like a knife. He isn't the man you knew. He's been brainwashed and altered. He's been through the Red Room indoctrination."

"He's still Bucky," Steve insists. "I could see it in his eyes — the confusion, the recognition."

"That is wishful thinking," she says. "He tried to kill us. He isn't the man you knew. He's been brainwashed and altered. He's been through the Red Room indoctrination."

Surprisingly, it is Clint who speaks up in Bucky's defense. "You broke away. I survived Loki's mind-rape. You can't say that Barnes won't remember what he was, who Steve is. He must remember something or he would have left Steve to die." He looks at the feed. "He's hurt, lost. Look at him, Tasha."

"Natasha's right," Coulson breaks in. "He is the enemy until we can contain him, which better be now, because he looks like a man who will go to ground. If Hydra finds him before we do, they'll kill him or worse."

"We?" May doesn't look happy to hear that. "We have people we need to find, Coulson. We can't get sidetracked by going after the Winter Soldier."

"I'm not happy with the choices I have to make," Coulson sighs. "However, my S.H.I.E.L.D. team will continue with our mission to get the bus back, find Ward and Garrett, and shut down the ring of traitors. Cap will lead the Avengers on a mission to take Barnes into custody and get him away from Hydra."

"We shouldn't split up," Clint argues. "We just got you back — you won't have any back-up."

"I don't need back-up. I trust my team."

"You trusted Ward," May reminds him.

Coulson raises a brow and May's cheekbones flush with color. "I didn't trust him," she argues. 

Tony crosses his arms and sighs. "Agent is right. We can't fight a war on two fronts. We each know what we're looking for — so let's do our job." He looks at his watch. "Banner should be arriving in an hour. Thor will be here shortly. Meanwhile, we need to keep eyes on Barnes. Skye, give Jarvis access to your files so we can tie into the video feed."

"A.C.?" Skye looks at Phil. "Is that —?"

"I trust these people with my life. I think you can trust Stark with your files."

Skye shrugs. "You're the boss. Files on the way, Stark."

"Tony. And thank you. Someday, when we have time, let's talk." Tony glides the top of the dining table aside and brings up the holographic display. 

Steve gasps. It's like Bucky is standing in front of him, looking at him, instead of at the historical display at the museum. Steve leans forward, his eye fixed on the image. Bucky looks haunted, ill. He doesn't look invulnerable. He looks hurt. "He's hurt," Steve says. "I hurt him, and it feels like I betrayed him."

"He'll heal," Natasha speaks softly, places her hand on his arm. "He'll heal and he will try again to kill you."

"You don't know that."

She sighs. "I do. Ask Clint."

Steve looks at Clint, who is studying the toes of his boots. "Natasha's right. They don't teach mercy in the Red Room."

Steve looks confused. "But you're here."

"My programming was different, and I'm younger. The Winter Soldier has been programmed and reconditioned for years. You don't know how many layers of programming he's undergone — how many times his memory has been wiped."

"He's strong. He _knew_ me. He _saved_ me. I have to believe that counts for something." Steve looks at them, knows they can seeing the pain in his face, the belief in his eyes. "Now, I'm going to find him." He leaves the room, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. This has all happened before. He found Bucky against all odds before, and he will find him again. 

He suddenly realizes he's in the middle of nowhere without transportation. He bangs his fist on the oak door; it's a testimony to its hardened thickness and age that it doesn't splinter. "Ouch!" Steve shakes his hand.

"So, mighty Captain America meets his match in good old English Oak?" Clint tries to rub the smile from his mouth. 

"It's older than I am," Steve replies ruefully. "Sorry about my temper tantrum in there."

Clint shrugs, a fake nonchalance. "Cap, nobody knows both sides of this coin more than I do. No matter what anybody says, I _still_ feel that moment when he took me. And while I may not remember Natasha's "readjustment," I remember how grateful I was that she kicked that damn trickster out of my head."

"Somehow, I don't think it will be that easy with Bucky."

"No, but you and me, Cap, we don't give up." He scuffed the floor with the toe of his boot. "Listen, I don't know what kind of friends you were with Barnes, not like me and Phil I guess, but love is love, just like I'd die for you, or Nat, or … God … even Tony, because you're my family. Not that Bruce and Thor aren't, but of all of us, I guess they can take care of themselves." 

Steve smiles slightly. "Yeah. I miss the big guys."

"If you need somebody to go with you. I'll do it."

Steve's eyes widen. "You'd leave Coulson?"

Clint thinks of all the missions they have been on, separately and together, married or not, all with the possibility that one of them might not come back from alive. "Phil was in the Rangers. I was SF. Then, S.H.I.E.L.D. It's not like we don't know the risks. Do I want to leave him? I never want to leave him, but we know we have to. It's our job and it's worth it. Cap, you're worth it."

Steve looks nonplussed and grateful. "We need a ride."

"I think we can find one."

"Weapons?"

"Got your shield? I'm all packed."

"Intel?"

"Natasha and Tony."

"Really? Isn't that like gasoline and matches?" 

It's the first joke Steve has cracked in weeks and Clint grins back. "At least we'll be out of the ranger of fire. It ought to be fun listening in on the explosions." He glances at the door. "I should get back in there. I'm not leaving without talking to Phil."

He pushes through the door. In time to hear Phil speaking. "My orders stand. My team goes with me to hunt down Hydra. The Avengers go with Cap. He'll need you at his back. We don't know who was in charge of the Winter Soldier. We don't know what's been done to him. He's lethal and probably mentally unstable at this point." He stops when he sees Clint.

"Is he — did he?"

"He's waiting for me. "I'm going with him. Just the two or us." He looks at Phil, "Can we talk?"

Phil nods. They go to the deserted smoking room. The lights automatically rise and as they do, the shadows and weary lines of Phil's face are lit. They break Clint's heart. "I'm sorry."

Phil sighs. "I'd like you with me."

"I'd rather be with you, but this isn't new for us."

"Sadly, no." Phil comes over to him and Clint wraps his arms around Phil's body. He fits there as he always has for the first kiss. This kiss is deeper, more loving, sweet and bitter. "I've missed you."

"So much," Clint says softly. He wants to burrow into Phil's neck and breathe his scent forever. He wants to make love to this man, his husband, who has miraculously reappeared. "You never told me … how are you here?"

"I don't know." 

Clint feels a chill waft over his skin. "You've never lied to me."

Phil draws away from him, as if he feels the same chill. "I'm not lying, Clint. I don't know how or why Fury made the decision to take the measures he did, but it should never have been his call."

"It should have been _mine_. I'm your husband."

"No, Clint. It should have been mine," Phil sounds so defeated, so exhausted that Clint's breath stops. 

"You owe me the truth."

"You'll get it, I promise, as soon as I get the answers I need to have it make sense. Meanwhile, I've got a renegade HYDRA cell, an agency in ruins, and a lot of unanswered questions. I have to go."

Clint kisses him one last time. "I have a heartbroken superhero, a renegade assassin, and two people who have incendiary tempers to say the least. I win."

"In your dreams." Phil's smile makes him look about 10 years younger than he did when he walked in the room. It's good enough for Clint. 

"See you when I see you." 

"Not if I see you first." It's a silly ritual they've kept up since Clint geeked out over _Gallipoli_. He still feels he's getting the short end of the deal, but he promised Cap, and if it were him asking help to save Phil, Cap would stand at his side no questions or regrets. 

Phil links their hands briefly as they walk out together, releasing the grip when they return to the others.

**TBC**


	2. Near Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson takes his team back to finish business with Garrett and HYDRA.Clint and Steve search for The Winter Soldier with the assistance of Ton and Natasha. I guess it's a little like the breaking of the Fellowship with less death and angst … and no Hobbits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating on this remains Mature, mostly for language and some movie-style violence. Not AoS compliant, some divergence from The Winter Soldier. Inconsistencies in some parts of this story are my own choices and not necessarily errors.

Chapter 2

Steve stares out the window, watching Clint say good-bye to Coulson. He knows they have a relationship and while the norms of his day said it was unnatural and sinful, what he sees between the two men; the way their bodies incline towards each other, the way Coulson is drinking in the sight of Clint, like he is water to a parched throat, the need he sees in Clint's eyes — none of this seems unnatural. It's the most natural thing in the world for two people to love each other. He watches the chopper lift off, the wind from the blades making Natasha's hair dance like flames. 

"Cap?"

Hawkeye's voices startles him. "Tony's lending us one of his less fancy rides. We should get going."

"Yeah … " Steve turns back to him. "I'm sorry about dragging you away from Agent Coulson. I know how close you are." He cheeks are redden with a blush. "I mean …"

"Don't sweat it, Cap. It's all okay." He looks at his watch. "It will take about an hour to get to D.C. Tony's given us trackers. Even if we can't capture him, we might be able to tag him."

"He won't be at the Smithsonian waiting for us to show up," Steve says wryly. "That's not how he's survived."

"Better us than HYDRA. You know this guy. You know his habits and where he's likely to go to lie low. It doesn't seem like he wants the bad guys to find him. He's looking for you."

"He doesn't know me."

"He knows you in his heart, if not in his mind." Clint rolls his eyes and blushes to match Steve. Geez, I sound like a girl."

Steve laughs at Clint's chagrin. "I won't tell Natasha."

"Let's get out of here before I start farting rainbows or something."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Steve, as they all did, had a go-bag ready. The shield has a case that looked like it holds a large snare drum and fastens to his backpack if he needs to carry it with him. In jeans and his battered jacket, he looks more like an itinerant musician than Captain America. He's let a light stubble grow out, furthering the illusion that he isn't totally clean-cut and white bread. He can't disguise the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles under the shirt, the sharp jaw line, but at least people won't stare at him.

Natasha presses a square of faded red cloth into his hand. He looks at it. "What am I supposed to do with this?" 

"It's a do-rag to cover that pretty blonde head of yours," she winks at him and he mouths "Do-rag?" He gets out his phone and googles it. Then laughs. "Right. Not going to happen."

"Then keep it as a good luck charm." She places a quick kiss on his jaw. "Take care of yourself -- and my hawk."

"I will, I promise."

Clint looks in the doorway. "You ready, Cap? Stark is loaning us one of his less conspicuous rides."

Less conspicuous is a dark gray Mercedes. Tony holds the keys out to Clint. "Bring it back without a scratch or I'll take it out of your allowance."

"Yes, dad," Clint mocks and catches the keys in his palm. "Thanks, Tony. For everything. I mean it, man."

"I promised Coulson I'd keep an eye on you. That Merc has an AI -- simple version of Jarvis. It will track you, alert me to any problems, same sort of program Fury had installed on his SUV."

"The Winter Soldier still blew it up."

Tony shrugs. "Try not to get blown up, then. And ... no jet propulsion on this. It's primarily transportation. Just really nice transportation. It also has a hot button for when you really need help, but don't push it."

Steve raises a brow. "You know telling him that is like telling a five year old not to touch a hot stove."

"I'm not five," Clint objects. "So what happens if I push it?"

Tony waggles his finger. “No,no,no.”

“Okay, I got it. Armageddon. Maybe you should just disable it?”

“Not Armageddon. Just a line straight to Jarvis and the suit.”

“Wait. You told me --”

Tony waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. You should know better, Legolas.”

“Okay. I won’t push it.” He slings his bag into the back seat of the Mercedes. “Ready?”

Steve nods. “The sooner, the better.” 

Clint gets into the driver’s seat. Cap is adjusting to driving in the 21st century, but he’s really not up to speed on D.C. traffic. A motorbike is one thing, Tony’s posh Mercedes is entirely different. Clint touches a panel on the dashboard and a display opens showing a map with driving directions. As they approach D.C. , the skyline comes into view. Steve imagines he can still see the smoke and debris rising from the destruction unleashed by the fallen helicarriers, even though he knows that isn't likely. He’s seen pictures of the WTC and the aftermath; this is nothing like that. Most of the debris went into the Potomac. The loss of life, thanks to so much of the Triskelion being below ground, was minimal. Not negligible -- too many good people had died for him to consider that word appropriate, but nothing like the thousands who had died in New York. 

“I kind of expected to see ashes,” Clint says, echoing Steve’s thoughts. 

“The clean-up was pretty fast. Like they wanted to minimize it as much as possible. Nobody wanted it to be a shrine.”

“A shrine to hubris and neglect.” Clint shakes his head. “I never liked the place. It’s not like New York. Fury always had a tighter rein on that place, and Phil was there. The agents were good people.” He sighs. “Fuck, I really liked Sitwell. I can’t imagine him turning traitor.”

“Nobody ever approached you?”

Clint shakes his head. “I guess they knew I was Coulson’s man. My loyalty was always first to him and Natasha, then to S.H.I.E.L.D. There were a few times when I was … captured and maybe I didn’t know why or by whom, but nobody ever broke me, Cap. I stayed true.” His voice has a crack in it, and he’s blinking a little too rapidly. “You don’t betray people you love.”

Steve’s heart hurts. “Tony would say I’m simplistic, but I think Bucky saved me. He didn’t have to drag me out of that river. He could have killed me on that helicarrier. I _hurt_ him, Clint. I did damage to his body and he was still stronger than I am.”

"Cap, I know you. You were just trying to stop him, not injure him beyond repair. You couldn't because you saw your friend in him. He doesn't remember you — not really. So he could be more brutal and unforgiving."

"Then why didn't he leave me to die? I didn't mean anything to him."

Clint sighs. "I don't know. I can only tell you that I couldn't kill Natasha even though I had an order to make the shot. She was vulnerable in a way that I could see, even if nobody else could. So, I made a different call and brought her in alive. I couldn't explain it then, and I can't explain it now, but it was the right thing to do."

D.C. traffic is a bitch, but they take a chance and go to the Smithsonian. Clint doesn't have the same disguise issues as Steve. A cap, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and a light jacket to hide his impressive physique are all it takes to turn him from Hawkeye, the Avenger, to a fit, but nondescript Joe Average. Steve hunches into himself, trying to look smaller. 

"Steve ... you're okay. Don't sweat it. Act like you belong with the rest of us tourists." Clint doesn't call him 'Cap,' even though that's his usual nickname. Steve supposes that's part of spy craft -- something he's never learned. "Gawp a little. You're allowed."

So, Steve does. At least the museum is quiet. "What are we looking for?"

“We know the Winter Sol--”

“Don’t call him that!” Steve says sharply. “His name is James or Bucky, or just Barnes. He deserves that much humanity. You don’t call Natasha Black Widow.”

Clint looks down and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Only when I want to annoy her -- which is like never.” He nods at Steve. “Okay, Barnes. Look, we know he was here. What was he looking at the longest, what was he looking for? Where would he go from here? Those are questions only you can answer.”

Steve thinks about it. He can picture the hologram in his mind. “He was looking at his story, like he was reading it for the first time, but like it was something he heard a long time ago. He didn’t look at my stuff much, but he looked at the pictures of us together.”

“How long has he been out of the world? Can he function as an individual? Get food, shelter, medical attention if he needs it?”

“He wouldn’t go to a clinic. When I was sick, he would steal medicine from a drug store -- little things like cough medicine and throat disks. If I got hurt, he’d steal salves and bandages.” Steve shakes his head. "I don’t know if he was that good of a thief, or if the druggist just felt sorry for me.”

“Yeah, Barney used to do the same for me when I was little. But as soon as I was able to do it on my own, he stopped. He said I had to learn to take care of myself. I was eight years old.” 

“You probably know better than I do where he’d go.”  
Clint, who has been on the streets for a good part of his life, thinks about it for a while. "He knows where you live. He knows that's probably safe. He's hurt, he needs to lie low. He's known nothing but pain and fear for most of his life since HYDRA took him."

Steve has always figured Clint to be smarter than he lets on; smarter and more perceptive than people gave him credit for, except for Coulson and Natasha. "I can see that. You know it's probably being watched."

"I don't know about you, but I wasn't planning on knocking on the front door. We go in when it's dark."

Steve looks at his watch. "The museum is closing. Two hours until twilight."

"You hungry?"

Steve grins. "I could eat."

Steve's place is in Columbia Heights. Clint parks in the metro station and they walk to a convenience store. They buy ready-made sandwiches, bottles of water, a couple cans of Coke. Clint looks at a snack pack of powdered sugar doughnuts. "Phil loves this crap." He blushes, but he buys three packs. Steve thinks it's pretty adorable. 

Steve buys another sandwich and a bag of chips, two bottles of water and a pack of doughnuts. "He might be hungry."

Clint shakes his head. "You're just a big softie," he says, bumping Steve's elbow. "Hope he's not going to try to kill you again."

"I'm human. I'm not stupid."

They return to the car, sit and eat until darkness falls. Then they walk to Steve's block. His apartment is on the fourth floor of a four story building. It's a nice unit with a bay window and a view of the city. Right now, the windows are covered with plywood. There is no way to see inside the apartment. An alley runs between the building and a taqueria on the street level of the building next door. Two dumpsters abut the brick wall of Steve's building, giving easy access to the fire escape. Clint looks at the metal steps and takes out his mini-maglite. He touches the step. 

"What is it?"

"Blood."

Steve sighs. "He's here."

"Looks like." He hands Steve the tiny earbud that they use for communication. They check it, then Clint starts up the fire escape, his boots silent. It's what he does best. He motions to Steve to hold back. He takes out a night vision scope from his pockets, and Steve wonders what else he is hiding in those fatigue pockets. He watches as Clint makes it to the landing on the fourth floor. There is one apartment between the escape and Steve's unit. He gestures, and Clint nods. He pulls himself up to the roof and vanishes.

It seems an eternity passes before he reappears and gives Steve the thumbs-up. Steve swings up easily. He takes the shield out of the covering and slings it across his back. He stands on the rooftop and brushes off his hands. "What do we do now that we're here?"

"Your call, Cap. Somehow, I don't think bustin' in the door will be a good thing for any of us."

"Agreed. There is a way … I used to come up here sometimes, look at the stars. Have a beer. There's a trapdoor over here."

"Beer? I thought you couldn't get drunk."

"I never drank to get drunk," Steve says. "I still like a good cold beer." He moves soundlessly across the roof to a hatch door. It's got a lock on it, but it's no match for vibranium. The hasp parts like butter. Steve lifts it effortlessly, and Clint drops down to the floor below, silent as always, followed by Steve. 

He pauses in front of his door. "I'm going in alone."

Clint looks doubtful. "Not such a good idea."

"If I need back-up, you'll be there."

"Sure … but I can't use my bow in these close quarters."

"You can distract him long enough for me to get that tag on him if he runs."

Clint nods and walks over to the stairwell, leaning against the door that used to be Agent 13's. "Good luck, Cap," he whispers. 

Steve opens his door as quietly as he can and slips inside the dark apartment. He thinks for a moment that they were wrong about Bucky being there until he sees blood smeared on the edge of the door. He edges inside. The medical litter from Fury's shooting is scattered on the floor. Bits of glass crunch under his boots and he winces. "Bucky?" he whispers, and is met with silence. Not here. Steve doesn't know if he's relieved or disappointed. "Barton, I don't think—"

Then there is a sound from the bedroom and a shadow rushes out. Steve jumps up, his shield raised and is shoved aside into a wall. In a second, he's up and leaping after the shadow. 

Clint is hanging on to Barnes, looking terrier-like and fierce. "Tag him!" He grits out and Steve shoves the tiny chip deep into the plate-like armor of Barnes' arm. He shakes Clint off, slamming him into the bannister and Clint crumples, one arm wrapped around his ribs. The other man leaps down the stairwell, and Steve follows, "Bucky!" he screams, but the shadow disappears into the night. It's a weird sensation of deja vu. Steve goes up the stairs two at a time. 

"Barton, are you okay?"

Clint is pale, one hand wrapped around his ribs. "Think so. Did you get the tag on him?"

"Yeah." Steve helps Clint to his feet. "Come on inside so I can take a look at your ribs." 

Clint holds out a warning hand. "I can walk, Cap." He shuffles inside as Steve turns on the lights. He looks around at the destruction left by bullets and combat. "Love what you've done with the place."

Steve gives him a grin that is more of a grimace. "Well, it still needs a little work." He deliberately does not look at the bloodstains. "And cleaning." He goes into the bathroom and runs several towels under cold water. "Take off your shirt."

Clint grins at him. "Coulson will be so jealous." He hisses as he tries to pull off his t-shirt and gives up. Steve sighs as he rucks up the hem of the shirt and presses the towels against Clint's ribs. They're already showing red and dark purple bruising. Clint has the far-away look of a man trying to ignore pain. "It's not too bad," Steve says. "Might be cracked, but mostly just bruised. He could have killed you."

"Why didn't he?" Clint asks. "A tip down the stairs instead of a shove — That arm could have snapped my neck easily."

"I don't know."

"Assassins can't afford weakness and doubts. We can't afford mercy."

"You saved Natasha," Steve reminds him.

"You've _seen_ Natasha, right? She's beautiful, and I was probably a little in love with her, but I had no qualms about killing the man who was her partner on that op."

"It's not the same thing."

"Why didn't he kill me?" Clint persists and flinches when Steve presses a little too hard against his ribs.

Of course, Steve notices. "Sorry." He changes out the towel and applies it more gently to Clint's side. "He's hurt. He's vulnerable."

"He didn't seem so vulnerable when he slammed into me," Clint tries to laugh, but his ribs pull fiercely. "At least you got the tracker on him. We need to contact Tony."

Steve looks around him. "We might as well stay here. I don't know if the food is any good, but the bed's okay." He gets up and goes into the bathroom, noticing for the first time that his medicine cabinet is open and his small stash of painkillers is depleted. It's not like he needs them, but he usually has some on hand otherwise people look at him oddly when he apologizes for not having aspirin. He finds a bottle of slightly outdated ibuprofen and takes it out to Clint with a cup of water. "What's the effective shelf-life for painkillers?" he muses.

"It's not going to poison me," Clint takes three ibuprofen and swallows them down. "How's the couch?"

Steve blinks at him. "What?" And then blushes furiously. "No. You take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch. The mattress is too soft for me."

Clint shrugs. "I won't argue. My old bones need a place to land. I texted Tony, told him the tracker was in place. He pinged me back, so I guess we're good to go. I hate falling behind on the chase."

"He stole painkillers. He's hurting. He'll need to lie low."

"Give me four hours and I'll be ready." He stands up, gives an experimental stretch and winces. "Do you have any frozen veggies?"

"No, but I have ice and a plastic bag. I'll put an ice pack together." 

"Get the go-bag out of the car. I've got better meds, elastic bandages, numbing spray and other stuff." 

"Always prepared?"

"It ain't my first rodeo," Clint smiles tiredly. "Four hours, Cap. No more." He goes into the bedroom. When Cap returns with the go-bag, Clint is curled up under the blankets. He mutters a muffled thanks when Cap places the ice pack over his ribs and wraps the elastic over it. An hour later, when he removes the mostly melted pack, Clint doesn't even move.

Steve thinks about Bucky, wonders where he would be sleeping tonight; the streets, some homeless shelter, in a car? He doesn't know much about Bucky's life since the fall, but he knows that he's a survivor. Always has been and always will be. He's better than Steve could be at taking care of himself. He sits and thinks, sleep not being an absolute need now that he's healed. He does close his eyes to think and his mind goes back …

_Spring 1942_

Bucky’s place was a crummy one room walk-up in Brooklyn. The stairs were swaybacked, the floors sagging enough in spots to be noticeable, the walls were rust-stained and dirty. It had heat from a boiler in the basement that didn’t carry full steam to the radiator; the only thing that kept the temperature tolerable was the fact that heat rose from the three floors below. When the wind blew from the northeast, the windows were rhrimedimed with ice and frost. 

There was a gas stove that had to be lit from the broiler, and burners that ignited with a match. Bucky joked that turning on the over was a sure-fire path to suicide, so most of what he ate had to be heated on the stovetop where you could actually see the flames, and were less likely to be asphyxiated. 

Bucky was good with his hands, and smart. He could fix just about anything, which mostly paid for his rent. Spending money came from extra work he picked up as a school janitor. It wasn’t much; enough to keep food on his table and to buy a beer or two at the end of the week. Steve earned his money by drawing pictures for advertisements in a weekly rag put out by a small newspaper publisher. Once in a while the editor would actually let him draw something original -- like soldiers marching off to war, or pretty women selling war bonds. Those were the most popular. Bucky thought he should make them more risqué, like pin-ups, but Steve wouldn't do that. He couldn't get over the idea that they were the sisters, girlfriends, and wives of the guys at the front.

"Do it on commission," Bucky said and Steve laughed.

"What's the point? I'll get out there one of these days." It was just like Bucky not to mock him for believing he just might get into the Army eventually. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

It was hard to wrap his head around the idea that his best friend didn't even remember him, much less had tried to kill him. Four hours later, all he's managed to glean from his memories is kind of a headache and a powerful hunger. 

Clint appears in the doorway, looking rough, but at least more rested. He's holding out the elastic band. "Wrap my ribs, Cap?"

"We can go back to Tony's," Steve says as he watches Clint pale when he secures the wrap.

"I don't give up on a mission for a few cracked ribs." He takes out his cell phone and texts Tony. We'll see if Tony's got a location for us."

A moment later, his phone pings. Clint puts Tony on speaker. "Barton, I have a location, however, he's not moving. He might be lying low —"

"Or he's found the tracker and dropped it and is fifteen miles away," Clint sighs. "Okay, give me what you've got."

Tony rattles off some coordinates and adds, "It's a park. The National Harbor. Point. It's in Maryland, across the Potomac.."

"I know it," Steve says. "The sculpture there, Giant's Awakening, it's … disconcerting." 

Clint enters the coordinates into his cell phone GPS. "Got it, Tony. We'll call when we get there."

"You sound a little breathless. You and Blondie aren't doing anything to make Coulson jealous, because I would totally pay — Ouch!" 

"Thanks, Nat." Clint hears her laughing in the background. "I'm fine. Just bruised a few ribs when we ran into Barnes last night." He ignores Natasha's muffled surprise. "He bolted, that's all. We're leaving for the National Harbor now. Talk to you later." He thumbs off the phone.  

"There's a McDonalds on the way. We both need to eat." He passes the bottle of ibuprofen to Clint. Then they're out of the apartment and on the move.


	3. Giant in the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Steve find Bucky, but so does somebody else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, in my research, I discovered that the sculpture had been moved from Hains Point to the National Harbor ... so now I have to go back and edit Chapter 2. 
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s668.photobucket.com/user/library_rose/media/852a3a0b-7042-427d-b7ee-3fd787d13b20_zpsc42cdabd.jpg.html)

Chapter 3 **Giants in the Earth**

_Clint_

Overnight, the weather has changed from the bright sun of the previous day to dreary, mist-shrouded and damp. It makes Clint’s hands ache and he swears he can feel every bruise and strain on his ribs like an individual point of pain. They stop at the McDonald’s drive-thru window, order a sack of egg McMuffins, coffee and juice. Clint wraps his hands gratefully around the cup. “Thanks, Cap. I need this. Getting old’s a bitch.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiles sympathetically even though there is no way he can feel ‘old’, not the way the serum keeps him eternally young. Clint doesn’t want to call him on that; petty isn’t his thing. 

It’s a short drive, made longer by D.C. traffic, which even at 5am is daunting. Clint eats two of the sandwiches, declines the juice and drinks the coffee. The ibuprofen is kicking in, and the night-time stiffness is wearing off. All in all, he’s been in worse shape. He glances at Steve. He’s chewing slowly on his McMuffin, like he’s forcing every mouthful down. 

“Not hungry?” Clint asks.

“Too worried about what we’ll find. What if he’s not there? Then what? He’s smart. He’ll know how to ditch the tracker.”

“Or maybe he’s just waiting for us,” Clint says. He doesn’t mean to sound bleak, but he really isn’t up to another physical confrontation with Barnes. He doesn’t know if Steve is up to that, either, though if the guy is injured, it might give them a slight advantage. “So, how does this miracle serum work? D’you think he heals as fast as you do?”

Steve looks at Clint. “I don’t know. Maybe more at the rate Natasha heals. The thing is, I don’t think he feels pain the same way she does, or I do.”

“Do you feel pain?” Clint asks, curious. He wonders if anybody has ever asked Steve that. 

“I feel it, all of it, but only until I start healing. Then it’s just a dull ache that fades in a few days. Mostly, after I’m hurt -- if it’s bad enough -- I feel tired and weak for a while, like I did when I had the flu, or a bad asthma attack.” He looks out the window. “There’s the park entrance. Have you ever been here before?”

“No.” He turns down the entrance. Clint hadn't expected the National Harbor to provide so many perfect sites for a sniper's nest. Shops, restaurants and hotels line the concrete piers. When he turns the other way, he sees open water and a man made strip of beach. There is a concrete sea wall and park benches. If the weather were halfway decent, the park would be filled with runners and walkers, with people basking in the sun and playing Frisbee. Today, in the chilly early morning, between the damp in the air and the shock of the Triskelion collapse, it is deserted. Clint still parks at the far end of the narrow lot. 

"I don't see anything.' He studies at the tracking app Tony had sent him. Their position shows up as a blue dot, there is a blinking red dot closer to the water. 

"There."

Clint looks to where Steve is pointing. “You've got to be kidding me." It looks like a giant bronze man is clawing his way out of the earth. One huge hand, maybe twice Clint's height looks like its reaching up in agony. The giant's mouth is open in a scream. The blinking red dot is in the sculpture. "You didn't tell me he had such a sense of humor."

"Yeah, that's Bucky for you." Steve looks relieved. Clint is just wary. The guy's a sniper, not a prankster. 

"Steve, that sculpture is out in the open. This could be a trap. There's no way you can recover from a head-shot."

That brings Steve up short. "What's the plan?"

"He doesn't know me. Give me ten minutes to play tourist." Clint pulls the hood up loosely and thrusts his hands in his pockets. He changes his posture to a slump and pulls out a cigarette and lighter. He doesn't smoke, but it makes a good prop. He strolls around the park, pausing at the water, sitting on a bench with his shoulders hunched and his hands relaxed on his knees. He draws in smoke, breathes it out. When the cigarette is half-burned, he grinds it out on the sidewalk and strolls over to the sculpture. He looks casual, but his eyes are scanning the site. 

He sees the impression of vibram soles, military issue, in the soft soil. They're not fresh, but not old, either. The grass has sprung back into place, but the molding is clear. "He was here," Clint tells Steve. He follows the prints carefully. They lead to the tallest arm reaching from the dirt. He looks down, and there, nearly beneath the toe of his boot, is the tiny microchip of the tracker. "I found the tracking chip," he says. He feels the hairs rise on the back of his neck and he dives down just as a bullet smashes the chip into fragments. "Shit!" Clint rolls to his knees and takes out his rifle site. He scans the buildings around the park, but can't see anything, not even a shadow. He knows Barnes is out there. The shot was made by a trained sniper, and it's a shot only two or three of the best could make. He's one of them, Barnes is the other. The third is a Mossad agent Clint had trained with years ago. He knows for damn sure Efram wouldn't be shooting at him even if he was in the United States. 

"Barton! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just trying to get an angle on the shooter."  
"Any luck?"

"No. Just a lot of conjecture. I'm heading back. I think we need to get out of here. I'm getting an itch between my shoulder blades and I don't think it's Barnes watching us."

"HYDRA?"

"Let's get the fuck outta here, Cap. Like right now!"

He dashes towards the car and Steve follows. Steve barely gets the shield up in time to ward of a hail of bullets. Clint dives into the driver's seat and thanks God that Tony believes in bulletproof glass. The keys are in the ignition and he guns the motor and wheels out of the parking lot and back to the road. He drives down several side streets, including one that is a one-way before emerging onto the main road, now crammed with rush hour traffic.

"Well, that was … different," Steve says.

"For me, not so much," Clint sighs and winces. "Ow! Adrenaline is a great drug but it's a bitch when it wears off." He takes the next right turn. They're in Anacostia, and Clint pulls into the drive of a large, tourist-class hotel. "We need to lie low for a while." He registers using the William Brandt ID in his kit. Steve parks the car in the underground garage and takes the elevator to the fourth floor where Clint is waiting. Their room overlooks the flat roof of the building next door. If they have to, they can flee the room easily. Clint sits on the bed and calls Tony. Natasha answers, sounding sharp and worried. 

"Where are you?"

"At a hotel in Anacostia. You might have noticed that the chip stopped transmitting."

"We noticed. What's going on?"

"We sort of found Barnes. Then we found the chip. Then he shot it to pieces at my feet. And then HYDRA started shooting at us. I _am_ serious. And my ribs hurt. So tell Tony what happened and see if there's a way he can figure out who is trying to kill us."

"Besides Barnes?" Natasha sounds less than amused.

Steve leans over Clint's shoulder. "I don't think it was Bucky shooting at us."

"Really?"

"Because if it had been, we would both be dead." 

There is a pause, then Natasha sighs in exasperation. "I can't argue with that. What's your next move?"

"Don't know. We'll think of something. Meanwhile, get Hill to work on that HYDRA issue. I don't know how much time we have."

"Be careful."

"At least for the next few hours," Clint promises and taps the bar to sign off. He uses the house phone to call room service and orders burgers and fries. Steve is looking at him. "What? Not in the mood for burgers?"

"No, that's fine. Just … what you said about Bucky not shooting at us. Do you believe that?"

"Cap, I'm not in Tony Stark's brain league, but I know snipers, and I know that Barnes wasn't aiming at me. He was aiming at that chip. Compared to that kind of shooting, the other gunmen were amateurs. Sloppy and inefficient. Now, I'm gonna clean up and ask you to wrap my ribs again."

"Then what?"

"We figure it out." 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
After he eats, Clint takes some painkillers and in ten minutes is passed out on the bed. Steve slips quietly out of the room, takes the elevator down to the garage and leaves. He catches the Metro at the next stop and, on nothing more than a hunch, returns to the Smithsonian. 

It's early, and the museum is quiet, the galleries nearly deserted. Steve returns to the Captain America exhibit. He feels conspicuous, but he remembers Clint's tips on looking like just another tourist. He keeps an eye out for Bucky. 

He sees one man, tall with long dark hair and wearing a ball cap and starts heading that way, only to be brought up short by a toddler running towards the man and calling, "Daddy!" The man turns and catches the little boy up in his arms. "Look, Daddy, I got a Cap'n 'merica hat."

Steve smiles sadly and looks away from the happy sight. He checks the cafeteria, buys a large bottle of water and walks to the Word War II Memorial. The weather has kept most people away. Steve stands in front of the wall and reads the words on the Memorial.

_THEY FOUGHT TOGETHER AS BROTHERS-IN-ARMS._  
THEY DIED TOGETHER AND NOW THEY SLEEP SIDE BY SIDE.  
TO THEM WE HAVE A SOLEMN OBLIGATION. 

He is so deep in thought that he doesn't hear the approach of another person until he feels the hard press of metal against his spine. "Buck —"

"Don't turn around and don't call me that," Bucky hisses. "Stop trying to find me, stop trying to save me. You can't. Walk away and forget you ever saw me."

"I can't do that."

"They'll make me kill you."

"They couldn't do it before, and they can't do it now," Steve says, utter conviction in his voice. "I'm not so easy to kill."

"They are monsters."

Steve gives a short, sharp laugh. "I've seen monsters, Bucky. I'm pretty sure they're just men."

"Haven't you learned that men are the greatest monsters?" Bucky breathes, so close that his breath brushes Steve's cheek. His metal hand drifts down Steve's face, and he whispers something in Russian. His hand closes around Steve's throat. 

Something whizzes past Steve's ear. Bucky's hair stirs in the wake. He jumps back, startled, and a second arrow buries itself in the meat of Bucky's shoulder. He curses and yanks the shaft out, looks at the arrowhead and before Steve can react, his eyes roll up and he crumples to the ground. 

Clint steps from behind the statue, bow in hand. "What did you do?" Steve demands.

"Loaded him up with pentathol. He'll be out for a while."

"What are we supposed to do with him? Carry him on the metro?"

"Nope. I arranged for some alternate transportation. He speaks into his mike. "We're ready, 'Tasha."

"We can't do this!" Steve grabs Clint's arm. "He'll never trust —"

"Cap, I don't think 'trust' is in his vocabulary. He needs to be someplace safe. Someplace where he can have a chance to recover what small part of him is still Bucky Barnes. I know what it's like to be unmade, to have somebody take over your mind and body and take away everything that made you who you are. If Natasha hadn't believed I could come back, I'd be dead — one way or another." 

"I hate this," Steve's voice is rough, and he coughs to clear it. 

"Yeah, but this could be the last chance for him. You could be his last chance, but we gotta move before he wakes up." 

Natasha pulls up in a SUV that looks like the twin to Nick Fury’s. Clint zip-ties Bucky’s ankles and wrists. He doesn’t move. Steve keeps looking for signs that he’s faking unconsciousness, but when he lifts an eyelid cautiously, the whites show and he doesn’t even twitch. Nat drives quickly and efficiently through the DC streets to Tony’s waiting chopper at a private airfield. 

Clint keeps scanning for signs that HYDRA is following them, but if they are, he can’t spot them. That makes him nervous. "Tony, any signs that we’re being followed? For all we know HYDRA could have implanted a tracker on this dude."

"Nothing overt. Tell Romanov to keep up the evasive driving. I’m sending alternate routes. Once you get the the heliport, you’re good. All other traffic is blocked."

"Who's flying this little mission?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"I'd like to know that I _can_ trust the pilot."

"Rhodey. Are you satisfied?"

"Good enough. Umm, do we still have that super-sedative developed for the Big Guy?" He casts a worried look at Barnes. "It might be a good idea to have some on hand. I don't know how long this pentathol will last on this guy." 

"Let's hope for another thirty minutes." Tony sounds worried, and Steve is looking at Clint like he just sold out Barnes to the highest bidder. Clint can live with that. He just wants to get out of D.C. before HYDRA figures out how to track them. 

After following the confusing and circuitous route Tony has sent to the SUV's GPS, Natasha looks like she's about to spit ground glass. Clint knows that look; he can almost work up sympathy for Stark … almost. 

Stark's gleaming black chopper is waiting for them. Colonel Rhodes is standing at parade rest, but Clint can see the gun at his side. He gets out of the SUV and approaches the Colonel, because the last thing he wants is to have a loaded weapon in the same space as a potentially unstable and unpredictable super-soldier. "Colonel, would you mind stowing your sidearm, given the situation here?"

Rhodey's eyes flicker to where Cap is carrying the unconscious Barnes towards the chopper. "So, not your normal extraction?"

"Nope. About as far from that as you can imagine."

Rhodey grins. "Hell, I hang out with Stark and fly in a metal suit. My imagination is pretty good. So, remind me again, why am I stowing my weapon in that case?"

"Think Hulk -- only this is an assassin with some sort of bionic arm, amnesia, and a fear of enclosed spaces."

Rhodey looks vaguely unsettled, but he covers it well."Okay. Got it." He reluctantly locks up his sidearm. "What happens if he tries to escape?"

"We let him. Just don't tell Cap that. He thinks he can save this guy."

"Who is he?"

"The Winter Soldier." 

Steve has belted Barnes across two seats. He hold out his hand. "Give me your cuffs." Clint raises a brow. "I'm not naive, Barton, so don't look so surprised." Cap's normally quiet voice is hard and harsh. "Let's get this bird in the air, Colonel."

Rhodey looks at Clint. "How long is our passenger going to be out?"

"I have no idea."

"O-kay, then." Clearly he is thinking _How the fuck do I get myself into these things?_. "Everybody buckle up."

As the ground falls away, Clint settles with his bow on his lap, the arrow casually aimed at Barnes' heart.


	4. Pain is Alive In a Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have the Winter Soldier, but what happens next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the varying lengths of the chapters. I'm just happy that I've been able keep to my schedule of posting a chapter a week. Again, just a reminder that this story isn't AoS or _Winter Soldier_ compliant. I have a good idea of where I want this story to go, but no idea of how long it will take to get there!
> 
> Also, Google is responsible for my Russian. If I have made errors, please offer other suggestions. I hope to limit it to a few words here and there, not entire conversations.

Steve isn't taking his eyes off Barnes' still form. Clint wonders if he's seeing his best friend or the dangerous man he's become. It's hard to tell from his expression. Clint is grateful Barnes is still out. He's been watching him for tell-tale signs of returning consciousness, but so far, not even a twitch. Looking at him, Clint can see where the guy must be exhausted. Maybe shooting him full of drugs was a mercy.

He can't be comfortable, crammed into the too small seats, his wrists and ankles zip-tied. The ties are made of some of Stark's "special" Hulk-proof plastics. Even awake, Clint doubted he'd be able to escape them, plus Cap added extra ties to ensure he won't escape. Clint wonders if he can detach his bionic arm or if it's hard-wired into his nervous system. It's ugly and beautiful at the same time. Tony is probably itching to get his fingers on it and figure it out. 

He thinks of Natasha and the fear in her face; of the wound in her shoulder and the old scar on her abdomen. She's been marked twice by the bastard and for that, Clint would kill him without blinking; but there is that _look_ on Cap's face … Like he wants to smooth the dark hair away from Barne's face, touch those bruised, tired eyes, to tell him it's all right, and that it's his turn to take care of Bucky. _Right_. Clint sighs.

"Cap, you ever hear the fable about the farmer and the cobra?" He can tell from Rogers' expression that he has. 

"Is that what you think this is? That he'll turn on me?" 

Steve is angry, and that doesn't happen very often. Clint meets his gaze levelly. "You don't know that it's not in his nature. HYDRA screwed with him so often that he might never come back — I'm not being cruel about this, Cap. I just think it's something y'ought to face as being a real possibility."

Steve's color fades. "I know," he says softly. "I just don't know what I'll do if that's true. What would you do?"

Clint laughs softly. "That's new. Captain America asking an assassin what to do about another assassin?"

"You're my teammate and I trust you to tell me the truth. What should I do?" Damn Cap and his earnest blue eyes. Clint has to be honest. 

"Let him go. If he wants to escape, cut your losses. If you don't, he'll inflict more damage on people you care about, and he might kill you in the process. He knows your weaknesses — and I don't mean your physical ones. He'll push your buttons until you let your guard down and then it will be all over. That's what assassins do, even Natasha will tell you that."

Steve's distaste is palpable, but he nods. "Is that what you do?"

The reaction hurts, but Clint pushes back. "Isn't that what soldiers do in a war? Find your enemy's weak spots and take advantage of them?"

Comprehension dawns on Steve's face and he almost looks ashamed of his first reaction to Clint's words. "You're right. I was being a judgmental prig." He looks at Barnes and sighs. "He was more than a friend, Clint. He was my _brother_."

Clint lifts a shoulder. "Then I guess we're about equal. My brother tried to kill me, too. He didn't even have the excuse of being brainwashed." Clint feels the chopper start its descent. He shifts in his seat. "Hey, Rhodey. How much further?"

"Landing in about five minutes."

Clint utters a sigh of relief that Barnes is still out. He checks his pulse, lifts an eyelid. "I wonder if Tony has a Hulk-proof room in that mansion."

"He's not the same," Steve objects. "He's not uncontrollable."

"I'd still feel better with six inches of shatterproof acrylic between me and him. One more thing, Cap. If he touches Natasha, I'll kill him without blinking." 

Steve knows what Natasha means to Clint, what she means now to him. He nods, his lips white at the edges. "I know."

The chopper touches down and when the doors open, Tony is standing there with a hypodermic in his hand. "So, anybody want a little cocktail? Guaranteed to keep even the Big Guy mellow." 

"He's still full of pentothal," Clint informs Tony. 

"So, you'd rather wait until he wakes up and then try to get this in him?" He hands the hypo to Clint who injects it into Barnes' thigh. "He'll be groggy once the pentathol wears off, but he'll be conscious."

"Do you have someplace secure?"

"I don't have a dungeon, but I have a nice room with reinforced walls, windows and furniture bolted down so it can't be used as a weapon."

"Okay, that's disturbing." 

"Bruce _likes_ it."

Meanwhile, Steve is holding Barnes in a bridal carry, waiting. "Umm, guys. He's not exactly a lightweight, even for me. Can we get moving?"

They make an odd procession; Tony in the lead, followed by Cap, with Clint and Rhodey behind them, weapons drawn. Natasha is at the top of the stairs, watching them. Clint tries to walk as straight as he can, but he doesn't have a prayer of hiding his pain from her. She's seen him like this too often. 

They take the elevator to the lower level past the the gym and firing range, and to a secure door that only opens to Tony's retina scan. "JARVIS, open the door." The locks slide and the door swings open. 

The door is two inches thick with a complicated locking mechanism. Clint thinks this is a dungeon until the lights come up. The room is painted in pale creams and grays. The furnishings are comfortable, even if they are secured to the floor. A long gray sofa is softened by accent pillows in cream and shades of blue. The lighting is recessed in the ceiling behind thick lenses that diffuse it into something resembling sunlight. A transparent screen along one wall looks like a window overlooking the outside, but when Clint touches it, it ripples slightly. 

"It's a hologram," Tony explains. A small fountain plays in the corner, musical and soothing. 

"I can see why Bruce likes it," Clint says. "Not so sure about this guy."

The bedroom is behind a translucent glass wall, the bathroom just beyond that. Steve gently lays Barnes down on the bed. Barnes doesn't move, though it looks like he's nestling his cheek against the soft pillow. Clint takes another zip tie and locks his flesh and blood arm to the headboard. 

"He's not a prisoner," Steve objects. 

Clint snorts. "I kind of thought he was, Cap. Until we can be sure he won't murder us in our beds, I'll rest easier knowing he's secure."

"I'll stay here," Steve says. "I'll be okay."

"I'm with Barton." Tony hands Steve a small box. "More sedative. It works like a epi-pen. Don't let him stab you with it."

"I think I can handle it," Steve says. His smile is sad. "Thanks, Tony."

"One more thing … Well, two." He pitches a small remote to Steve. "Panic button. It will throw up a force field between you and him anywhere in the area and bring us running. Don't think it's the TV remote by mistake. Second, 24/7 surveillance. No sound, just a monitor. You can turn that off with the TV remote, though I can't imagine you'd want to. Good luck, Cap. I don't envy you being here when he wakes up."

Neither does Clint, but he's in serious need of a hot shower and pain meds. Once they're out of the room and the door closes, Tony looks at him. "Need a drink?"

"Maybe six," Clint grimaces. "I need a shower and clean clothes first."

"You know where to find that drink when you're ready. I've got work to do." Tony gives his shoulder a light squeeze of support and heads off towards the library where the drinks and his computers are set up.

Clint hopes that includes working on learning more about the HYDRA goons who had been trying to kill him. His room is dim and he strips off his clothes while the shower heats up, then steps under the multiple heads and lets them beat against his battered body. The strained ribs are loosening up, but there's nothing to do for the ones that are cracked but take ibuprofen and wrap them up tight. 

When he steps from the steamy bathroom into his bedroom, Natasha is curled up against the pillows. She raises a brow. "That's a technicolor display if I've ever seen one." 

He doesn't bother blushing or grabbing for clothes. They've seen each other naked before, and the erotic thrill has faded over time and the development of his relationship with Coulson. She holds out a handful of elastic bandages. "Need some help with these?"

"Yeah." When she's finished, he gets dressed and sits next to her. "You're not here just to tend to my aches and pains," he says. "What's up?"

"I think I should be there when the Winter Soldier wakes up."

"I'm pretty sure Cap has that covered."

"He nearly killed Steve," Natasha warns. "I have no emotional attachment to him. I will have no guilt if I have to kill him."

"He's nearly killed you twice. I'd say that's some kind of emotional baggage, not to mention Russia."

"Whatever HYDRA has done to him, he's not the man I knew. He didn't recognize me." Clint isn't sure about that, but he keeps his mouth shut and lets her talk.

"He's shot me twice. Without a gun, I can hold my own against him. I'm nearly healed. He's weaker than I am. He's drugged. And I speak Russian."

"He's not Russian."

"No?" She lifts a brow. "I think he believes he is. He doesn't remember being James Barnes. He remembers being _Vinter Soldiyer_ " Her lips twist when she speaks Russian, which is so close to English that it scarcely needs translating. "I am _blatsk vdovu_ Black Widow. We are assassins. We know each other."

Clint swallows. "He doesn't know you the way you are now."

" _Moy yastreb_." She strokes his cheek. "My Hawk, we are always the same. We are what we are bred to be." 

He takes her hand. "I love you, 'Tasha."

Her eyes are soft as they only are for him and for Coulson. "I know, _moy yastreb_. You should rest."

"I'm fine."

"Mmm." She rearranges his pillows and they lie down together, Natasha spooning him, her arms light around his ribs, her breath on his skin. He drifts away before he's even aware of it, and doesn't move when she carefully withdraws from his side and leaves him alone.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
 _Natasha_

Steve is watching over Barnes (she has a hard time thinking of him by that name) like he is his last best hope. Natasha wishes he wouldn't do that; that way will lead only to heartbreak and pain. When she enters, he straightens. He looks as weary; his eyes dark and lacking the brightness that she has become used to seeing in them. 

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm not. I thought … you might … want company." She pulls a chair over and tucks herself into it like a cat. "And I speak Russian."

Steve smiles at that. "I kind of suspected that."

Natasha doesn't smile at him. "I know you don't want to hear this again, but which is more likely - that he will remember you and his life in America seventy years ago, or that he will remember being the Winter Soldier and recall only Russia?" She speaks gently, managing not to flinch when Steve looks at her like she's driven a knife in his heart. 

He falls silent and she touches his arm. "I'm sorry." 

"I don't want him to remember Russia, or HYDRA."

"It may be all he can remember. He doesn't remember you, not in a way that you want him to." Natasha realizes that it is not a kind thing to say. "That is why I am here. I can do what you can't."

"Speak Russian?"

"Kill him."

Steve's face hardens into something terrible. "Get out."

Natasha takes his arm in a firm hold so he can't turn away from her. "I didn't say I would kill him, only that I _could_ , if I had to -- to save you, to save us all. I swear I will not harm him unless we are in danger."

"Is our definition of danger the same?"

"If Tony's measures fail, that is my definition."

Steve sighs and his shoulders lose their high set. "I could eat."

"Then you should go. I will do my best to keep him safe."

He rises slowly. "Natasha, please … be careful."

"I am still alive." 

He leaves with a worried glance over his shoulder. Natasha picks up a magazine, wondering if she did the right thing in not telling Steve that she and James Barnes had been lovers. She studies Barnes, watching for signs of the man she had taken to her bed and sees very little of him in that she remembers; maybe in the curve of his mouth, the way his lashes lay on his cheeks, the line of his jaw. He doesn't look older, but he looks harder, colder. Like the way the ice on Lake Baikal shatters into jagged peaks in the Siberian winter. She sighs. 

Everything stills when she sees his eyes open. They are clouded with confusion and he struggles to sit, pulling on the ties shackling him. He doesn't seem to be aware of Natasha. He reaches out with his metal arm, but whatever Tony put in the sedative seems to have affected his coordination or the way the bionics work with the nerves in his arm. 

_Vy v bezopasnosti_ "You are safe," she says in Russian, and he turns those terrible, wounded, lost eyes to her. 

_Gde ya?_ "Where am I?" 

_Mozhete li vy govorit' po-angliyski_ "Can you speak English?"

"Yes." The word is wrenched from his throat reluctantly. "Are you here to kill me?"

Natasha could tell him the truth, but it's kinder to lie, at least for now. She bites her lip to keep it from trembling. "Not at the moment." She gets up and goes into the bathroom for a cup of water. "Are you thirsty?" He nods slightly. "If you try to hurt me, I will kill you," she warns, letting him know she is dangerous, strong, and capable of doing what she says.

He gives another small nod and she approaches. She's a good enough actress not to shiver when she holds the water to his mouth. He drinks in small, quick sips, his lashes long and fluttering. He lays back on the pillows. "Don't hurt me."

"No. We aren't like that."

"We?"

"You're safe. That is all you need to know."

He looks at her for a moment, as if he's testing the truth. Then he closes his eyes and turns his face from her as if he is afraid to reveal his vulnerability. It's too late. She's already seen it.

TBC


	5. I'd Throw My Hand on a Blade For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve discovers that the Winter Soldier is being worn away and signs of James "Bucky" Barnes are starting to emerge from the man's tortured past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe I'm still on a weekly posting schedule! Thank you all for your comments and concerns. Those of you looking for Steve and Bucky interaction should be satisfied with this part. You might want to have a tissue on hand.
> 
> Thank you, Narshalla, for correcting me on Bucky's name. Hopefully, my struggles with Google translate are at an end.
> 
> NOTE: According to all sources, "Yasha" is closer to "James." Back to Yasha. Anyway, I'm pretty much done with Russian. James "Bucky" Barnes is here to stay.

Clint wakes up to near darkness and no Natasha. He checks his phone and there is one message; from Phil. It's a video message and Phil looks like he's been through a war. There is a bandage of his forehead, another bruise on the side of his face and a cut lip. _First, I'm fine. I look like crap, but you should see the other guy."_ It's a tired joke, but Clint has to smile. _"All I can say right now is the world has changed, but what I feel for you is forever. I'll be in touch soon. Love you."_

Clint wipes his eyes. No, those are not tears. His eyes are merely dry from too much sleep. He takes a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in the room and drinks it down, splashes cool water on his face and runs his hands over his hair. He finds Tony in the library, manipulating some sort of holographic display in the air. Clint has no idea what it is, but it looks complicated. He grabs a beer from the bar fridge. He leans against the desk. "So, what are we looking at?"

"Nothing exciting," Tony sighs. "Not like real science … but you know I outfitted S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles with trackers --."

"Won't they just take them off?"

Tony frowns at Clint. "Trackers in the paint. Nanites, really. Tiny microchips that interact on a cellular level. Same stuff I spray on the Iron Man suits."

"That is pretty damn cool." Clint is impressed. "So you can find out where they are going to ground, then. But what happens when they decide to change vehicles?"

It's pretty obvious to Clint, being a spy, but Tony blinks. "We'll know where they went to ground. Damnit, Clint." He looks crestfallen. "I should have thought of that."

"Hey, you're a genius who's used to being high-profile. I'm just a spy and a sniper who has to hide and keep his target in his sights, but … long before you joined up, we had these … " He shows Tony the tiny scar where he pulled out the tracker. "I took mine out in Korea, but I bet most agents don't think about that, and they don't want to take it out, because they believe that HYDRA is going to protect them via that chip."

"So we need to identify that signature."

"Natasha still has her chip. It might still be transmitting, but I doubt it. The shock at the Triskelion probably shorted it out."

Tony snaps his fingers. "I can fix that."

As if on cue, Natasha comes through the door, an odd look on her face. Clint knows every one of her expressions, this one, he doesn't recognize. "'Tasha?"

"He woke up," she says. 

Clint doesn't need to ask who. "Did he know you?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think so, but he asked if I was there to kill him. He thinks we're going to hurt him." She sounds puzzled, sad."I said we weren't like that."

"We aren't, but HYDRA is. They've probably hurt him quite a lot." Clint's anger is close to the surface. He knows what he saw in Barnes' eyes; the ferocity and pain of a cornered, injured wolf. Natasha must have seen it, too. "Is he awake now?"

"No. He is very disoriented and his prosthetic arm isn't working. Steve is with him."

"That's reassuring," Tony speaks up, thinking beyond the presence of Barnes. "Natasha, do you still have your S.H.I.E.L.D. tracking chip?"

"Yes, but it is no longer working. Maria checked it."

"I need to take it out," Clint tells her. 

Natasha makes a face at him. "I can do it. I only need ten minutes."

"If I do it, it will take less time."

"Fine." She narrows her eyes and stalks out of the room. Clint shrugs at Tony, takes a bottle of vodka from the bar and follows her.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Food and perspective have done wonders for Steve. He feels almost one hundred percent; the serum healing the last of his bruised muscles and easing his fatigue. He engages the safety protocols and settles down to wait for Bucky to wake up. He wishes he had been the one to be there, not Natasha, particularly after what she told him when he returned. He knows HYDRA and the Red Room have done things too terrible to imagine to Bucky ... the childhood nickname seems so inadequate for the man on the bed ... but the thought that this is _Bucky_ still lingers in hope and fear. 

He has his shield next to him, the scars of the battles fought are still unpainted, though the surface itself is unmarred. He runs his fingers along the edge, smooth and hard; certain in its protection. It's deadly as a weapon, and Steve has never backed off using it as that, but it has also saved lives. He wishes it could have saved Bucky all those years ago. 

He rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes to ease the burn of tears. When he opens them, the Winter Soldier is looking at him. There is no recognition in those dark blue eyes. They go immediately to the shield. 

_Vy Amerikanskiy?_

Steve looks at him. "I know you speak English."

There is a twitch at the corner of his mouth, so much like Bucky that Steve's chest hurts for a second. He flicks his hand at the shield. "You are Captain America." 

"I'm Steve Rogers. I'm not going to go around calling you Winter Soldier. What's your name?"

There is a fleeting moment of puzzlement on his face. "I do not know. I have many names. Perhaps ... Yasha?"

Steve will have to ask Natasha what the English equivalent is. "Hello, Yasha. I am not here to hurt you, or harm you. You are not my enemy. You saved my life. Do you know the term 'parole', in the military sense?"

He gives a small nod. 

"So, if I release you, will you give me your parole and word of honor that you will not harm me or my friends?"

"I am an assassin. We have no honor."

"I don't believe that. The woman who was here when you woke up, she's also an assassin. The man who helped me find you, he calls himself that; yet neither of them harmed you. They're my friends, and I trust them with my life."

"Then you're a fool." 

"Maybe. But I don't think you're in any shape to hurt me right now." He approaches the bed, and uses blunt clippers to cut the plastic cuffs binding Bucky. His arm falls limply to his side. He looks at it like it's betrayed him. 

"You must be hungry," Steve says. 

There is a slight shrug, but also interest in his eyes. Steve speaks to JARVIS. "Could we have some tea and soup to Dr. Banner's quarters?"

"Of course, sir." 

Yasha startles and looks around. "What is that?"

Steve laughs. "I wish I could explain. That is JARVIS, he's like a butler. Technically, he's an artificial intelligence construct. He runs the house."

"You call it 'he'?" For the first time there is a glint of humor in those eyes. 

"Well, you have to get to used to thinking of an AI like that. Do you know who Tony Stark is?"

"The whole world knows."

"Well, this is kind of his house."

"Ah." There is a pause while Yasha mulls this over. 

Steve hears a soft knock at the door and Steve gets up, activating the invisible force field. He's not stupid. He knows better than to turn his back on an assassin. Natasha is standing outside with a tray. "I'm not your waitress, so don't get any bright ideas." She peers around Steve's shoulders. "Is he awake?"

"Yes. Natasha, what is the English equivalent of Yasha?"

"Why?"

"Because he told me that was his name."

Her eyes open wide. "James. It is James." She hands him the tray and leaves.

Steve sets the tray down on the coffee table. He can hear James moving around in the bedroom, hears the water running, the flush of the toilet. A moment later, James comes into the living room. He's unsteady on his feet; probably still woozy from Tony's drug. Steve wants to help him, but he doesn't want to end up with that metal hand wrapped around his throat. He waits until Bucky lowers himself slowly to the couch. 

As ordered, there is a two-cup pot of tea and a bowl of steaming soup on the tray. Steve sits in a chair well out of the range of scalding liquid. "It's safe to eat. No drugs," he says when he sees James's hesitation. "Umm, I asked what the English equivalent of your name is … it means James."

"James? It is a good name?"

"It's your name."

"You called me Bucky. Who the hell is Bucky?"

"It's a nickname. It's what I called you when we were younger."

"I don't remember being younger. I don't remember you."

"I know," Steve says softly, his heart hurting. "Maybe someday you will."

James eats quietly, his eyes shielded by long, thick lashes. He's clearly trying not to eat too fast; either afraid to reveal his vulnerability or to keep from getting sick. Steve is patient. Seventy years in the ice will do that. So, he waits quietly, keeping an eye on Bucky as he eats.

He puts the spoon down before the bowl is empty. "It is good. Thank you."

"Tony believes in good food and drink. He hasn't let me starve yet." He meant it in jest, but there is no laughter in the other man's expression. 

"Yet?"

Steve wonders if starvation had been used to weaken James, to control him. "I meant that Tony --" He pauses trying to find the words. "Tony believes in watching out for his friends. We have value in his eyes, as people, not just as weapons."

"Weapons?"

"Every one of us is a weapon, make no mistake. You are surrounded by dangerous men and women, but we choose our enemies. Right now, you aren't my enemy."

"I should be."

"Why?"

"I can't be trusted. I can be turned against you."

"Alexander Pierce is dead. The people who tortured you are either dead or gone to ground. They don't have any power over you."

James shakes his head, his rough hair falling across his face. "They will always have power over me. They will find me and they will take me apart again and make me new." His voice trembles and, damn, Steve _cannot_ stay away. He crosses over to the couch and sits next to this man who is both his friend and his greatest enemy. 

"We won't let that happen. _I_ won't let that happen. If they come back for you, they'll have to go through me. I'm not that ninety-pound weakling from Brooklyn, ya know."

"Brooklyn?" 

Steve can see the panic in his face, the quickening of his respiration, the way his fingers clench around the fabric on the couch. "Do you remember Brooklyn?" He wants to go down on his knees. pry loose those fingers, cradle the taut hand, but he forces himself to be still. 

"Brooklyn?" This time it's a whisper; harsh and painful. "Is that where I come from?"

"Yeah, it is. We grew up there in a place called Flatbush. It was kind of rough there. I needed a lot of protecting." Steve keeps his voice quiet and emotionless. "Do you remember that?"

"No." It sounds like a lie. "I'm tired." James stands up. From Steve's perspective, he doesn't look like Bucky. He looks foreign and hard, but when Steve stands face-to-face, he can see so much more. He sees fear, anxiety and doubt. 

"Why did you save me? Why didn't you let me drown?"

"I was ordered to bring you back alive." His voice is void of expression. "I thought you were dead. You fought bravely. You deserved a soldier's grave."

Steve can see through that lie like glass. "You keep telling yourself that and someday you might believe it, but I never will." 

Bucky looks like he's been slapped. He recoils, turns around and returns to the bedroom without saying another word. Steve can't help feeling he's gained a small victory. The knowledge doesn't give him pleasure, because he's not a man to be deliberately cruel. He scrubs a hand over his face, feeling the stubble on his cheeks. It's been hours since he's eaten or slept. 

Physically, he doesn't tire easily, but emotionally, he's exhausted. When he hears only silence from the other room, he requests JARVIS to arm the full surveillance mode and alarms in the quarters, then leaves. 

To his surprise, it's dark outside; the artificial light in the guest quarters had suppressed his awareness of the passage of time. He makes his way to the kitchen, opens the refrigerator and pours a glass of milk. There is a wrapped beef sandwich with his name on it in Natasha's handwriting. He sits at the breakfast bar, turns on a dim light overhead and eats. He hears the soft brush of bare feet on wood and turns quickly. Clint is standing in the doorway. He's wearing sleep pants and an over-sized tee shirt. His hair is mussed, but he doesn't look like he's been sleeping.

"Mind some company?"

Steve shoves the stool next to him away from the counter. "Have a seat."

Clint looks at the milk, shrugs and goes to the refrigerator. He pours himself a glass, then lifts the cover off a plate of chocolate chip cookies. He pushes two over for Steve and takes one for himself. "So, how's the house guest?"

"He says his name is _Yasha_. Natasha said it means James. I don't know if that's the name HYDRA gave him, or the Russians, or if he remembers that was his name."

"I don't know enough about any of that … Nat isn't exactly forthcoming. I know some things about what was done in the Red Room training. Most of is was … pretty awful. She was just a kid when they took her and made her into a weapon."

"Bucky was already a killer. He was a sniper in the war." He remembers that Clint is a sniper, too. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything negative."

"You can't do anything about what was done to him, Cap. You can only try to undo it."

"He said he dragged me out of the river so I could have a soldier's burial. I said he was lying."

"Was he?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. He looked like I'd sucker-punched him."

Clint drinks his milk and takes a bite of his cookie. "So, he's vulnerable. You may not want to hear this, but you have to keep chipping away at that armor bit by bit. It will hurt him and you, but that's the only way to get him back."

Steve looks at Clint from beneath his lashes. "Is that what they teach you at S.H.I.E.L.D. spy school?"

Clint smiles and shakes his head. "That's how Coulson saved me. Don't give up, Cap. We've got him. What we don't have is time." 

"I'm not going to interrogate or torture him!" Steve looks a little green around the gills.

"It's not torture. It's mercy." Clint yawns. "I'm not a super-soldier, Cap. I'm going to bed. Don't give up on Barnes. Coulson never gave up on me or Natasha, he just wore away at our armor one link at a time." 

"Thanks, Clint. You've stood by me on this when a lot of guys would have told me to fuck off."

"Okay, this is one for the books. Captain America said 'fuck-off.'" 

"It was a quote."

Clint laughs softly. "You're welcome, Cap. If you need help, you know where to find me." He salutes Steve and wanders off in the direction of the stairs. Steve finishes his milk and goes down to the gym. He manages not to destroy Tony's punching bag, and after showering off the sweat and stress of the day, he returns to Bruce's quarters.

"JARVIS, make it night. Motion alarms on in the bedroom."

"Yes, sir." 

The lights dim and Steve stretches out on the couch. He sleeps, and dreams about Brooklyn.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

_He sleeps and dreams about the past. It's confused and dark; bloody. He remembers the pain when they amputated his arm; the worse pain when they put him back together and made him a monster. He dreams of being in a small cell with a man in a long gray coat and a red star on the peak of a cap. He remembers the torture; being goaded to fight, and when he was injured, they strapped him to a hard table and waited for him to heal. Sometimes the wounds closed easily, other times, they became infected and days of fever and delirium followed until whatever HYDRA had done to his blood forced his body to repair itself._

_He sleeps, and he wakes up with a scream tearing at his throat._

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Steve is jolted awake by alarms and the most horrible sound he's ever heard. He bolts into the bedroom, his shield at the ready. Between the light pouring in from the living area and the shield raised like a weapon, the man on the bed cowers against the wall, his flesh and blood arm raised defensively. He's panting like a cornered animal, his eyes are wild and dilated in a face that is drained of color. 

"Bucky?" Steve lowers the shield, suddenly aware that he must look like the angel of death looming against the light. "Bucky, it's Steve." He sets the shield down, holds his arms away from his body. "It's all right. You're safe here."

Bucky crumples into a tight ball. He's sobbing, and that, more than anything, shakes Steve to the core. He's never seen Bucky cry, not even when his mother died. He goes into the bathroom and fills a plastic cup with water. He approaches the bed, and for the first time, he touches Bucky's arm; a gentle ghost of a grip. 

"I have some water." 

"Leave me alone!" 

"Sorry, can't do that. Not until you drink some water. Must have been a hell of a nightmare."

Bucky uncurls, pushes himself upright. "It wasn't a dream. It was my life," he says miserably. He picks up the cup, but he's shaking so hard that most of the water slops over his hand. Steve gently takes it from him and holds it to his lips. There is no contact between them. Then suddenly, Bucky's hand curls around Steve's wrist, keeping the cup in contact with his lips until he's drained it. His clasp slips away as he lays back against the pillows. "Thank you."

"I'll get more." He refills the glass and sets it on the nightstand. "Drink it, and try to rest. I'll be in the other room."

Bucky's hand has stopped shaking. He finishes the water and his eyes close. Steve waits until his breathing evens out. More than anything, he wants to stay in the room and watch over his friend, but he forces himself to go into the living area. 

Chinks in the armor, Clint had said. One link at a time. He doesn't sleep the rest of the night, but watches as the artificial dawn slowly lights the holographic windows. 

TBC


	6. How Many Times Can I Break 'Til I Shatter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finds something out about Bucky that could change everything;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another weekly chapter! This has quite a bit of dialog in it, and could probably use better editing, but I'm leaving on vacation tomorrow, and I don't think I'll be able to post anything next week, so I wanted to get this up before I leave. 
> 
> Vacation! Yay!

_Yasha_

He doesn't remember sleeping. He doesn't remember what it is like to lie on a bed that is soft beneath him, or being covered with blankets that are warm and light. He remembers cold, pain, being tied down. He doesn't remember waking to daylight. 

He opens his eyes slowly; rainbow colors dancing through his eyelashes. He doesn't move, but he is aware there is another person in the room. He can hear them breathe. They sound like they're asleep -- the soft, even respirations betray them. He keeps his own breathing light and slow as he opens his eyes.

He knows the man sleeping in the chair. The man had said, _"I'm not going to fight you Bucky, you're my friend."_ He isn't Bucky. He is Yasha and he has no friends. Only people who he's ordered to kill, and people who are trying to kill him. He doesn't know where this man fits into that equation. His name … his name is Steve. 

His breath quickens and the other man; big and blonde and impossibly beautiful opens his eyes. He doesn't look like he's been sleeping. There is no drowsiness, no early morning confusion. He's alert and upright. "Good Morning," he says quietly. "Did you sleep well?"

"I don't sleep."

Steve smiles at that. "You gave a damn good imitation of it for eight hours."

Yasha can't meet those clear eyes. He fiddles with the blankets. "You don't sleep, either?"

"When I have to -- when I can. Are you hungry?"

He has to think for a moment. People don't ask him that. They shove a plate in front of him and order him to eat. He doesn't remember being hungry, but his body does. "I could eat."

"You used to like pancakes."

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"Trust me. You used to get four or five stacked up with butter and syrup when you could afford it, or fruit sometimes. Back then, you could eat six times as much as I could."

Yasha can't suppress the quirk of his lips. "I couldn't do that now."

Steve smiles. "Maybe not. I wouldn't try it just yet. JARVIS, send some coffee, fruit and oatmeal to Dr. Banner's quarters." He has a sudden inspiration. "And a creamer of condensed milk if Tony's got it."

"Of course, sir."

"You are still a soldier?" Bucky asks.

"I was a soldier," Steve corrects him. "I guess the rank stuck."

"Captain America." To Yasha's surprise, a blush rises to the other man's face. "You are ashamed?"

"No! Not of that. It's just that inside, I still feel like the boy from Brooklyn who couldn't get drafted during a World War."

"You never gave up trying."

It isn't a question. Steve looks up and Yasha's eyes are wide. "How did you know?"

He covers it well, shielding his eyes and saying. "You are not a man who gives up easily. This I know."

Steve knows what he saw - a moment of recollection. He doesn't push it, though, cautious of the consequences. The last thing he wants is to cause Bucky pain. He's endured so much. Another link in the armor is breaking down. 

The light knock at the door interrupts Steve's thoughts. Clint is playing waiter this morning. He hands the breakfast tray to Steve. "How's it going, Cap?"

"He's starting to remember. Don't worry, I'm not pushing it."

"You might have to. Tony is tracking some of the surviving HYDRA agents. It's only a matter of time before they find this place."

"That's not what I needed to hear," Steve sighs. "Thanks. I'll get to work on that armor."

"We'll keep you updated on things. If you need a break, I'm available."

"I'm good," Steve replies. The door closes as soon as Clint steps away. Bucky is sitting on the couch. He looks somewhat better than he had yesterday, but nowhere close to the merciless assassin they first encountered. "I have breakfast."

He lifts the cover off two bowls of oatmeal with brown sugar and berries topping it. "Do you want some milk on that?"

"I don't know. Do I like milk on it?" 

Steve shakes his head. "We didn't have money for milk most of the time. When we did, it came out of a tin." He pours some of the milk on his oatmeal and watches Bucky do the same. 

Bucky takes a small spoonful and swallows thoughtfully, then another as a small smile curves his mouth. "It tastes good."

Steve tilts his head. "You always tried to give me extra. You said I needed to bulk up or I'd never get girls."

Bucky gives a short bark of laughter. "I was right." Then realizing what he had said, he pales, pushes the tray aside and goes into the bedroom. The bathroom door shuts forcefully, and when Steve goes inside, he can hear an odd, strangled sound like tears being choked back. He hesitates for a few minutes and knocks softly. 

"Are you okay?"

"Leave me alone."

Steve steps back and waits for the wrenching sobs to slow. He knocks again. "I've got some clothes here for you and clean towels. Take your time." There is a slight shift in the door. He can almost _feel_ Bucky pressed close against it. He can hear him breathing. "I'm going to get some coffee."

"Leave me alone." The misery in his voice makes Steve wince and unable to find words that won't make things worse, he arms the security and leaves, foregoing the elevator and taking the stairs two at a time. He knows where he will find Clint.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Barton is in the gym working out with weights. He can't shoot his bow, but he's keeping his muscles in form. When he sees Steve, he puts the barbells down. "Cap? What's going on?"

"You know those links you were talking about? I think I broke more than a few and it's not so good."

"He remembers?"

Steve nods. "More and more. I don't know if it's a good idea for me to be there right now." He takes a breath. "Could you -- I mean he has no expectations from you."

"Other than I shot him."

"With a tranq. Not with a bullet. Maybe -- and don't take this the wrong way -- you might have more insight into his life than I do right now."

Clint wipes his face with a towel. "Do I have time to shower?"

Steve feels more relieved that he should. "Thank you, Clint."

"Cap, I learned early that family isn't always on your side. The first time Phil led a team to rescue me, I didn't know what to do. My own brother had never done that for me. I asked him why he'd done that. Phil said that I was on his team, and that made me family. So, since we're on the same team, That makes you family."

Steve has to swallow hard. "Bucky was like family."

"Maybe he will be again. I hope so, Cap, I really do." Clint takes a breath, "So when I go in there what am I gonna find?"

"He locked himself in the bathroom."

"Well, that's -- interesting. I can deal. When I first met Phil, I did the same thing."

"Great. Common ground." Steve sounds doubtful but Clint just smiles broadly. 

"Get something to eat, catch a nap, work out … whatever. You need some space, and so does he."

Steve is amazed that as ridiculous as Clint can be at times, at others, he is remarkably perceptive. "I will. You know all about the alarms and gadgets, right?"

"Sure. Tony gave me the protocols." 

He doesn't seem to be the least fazed by anything -- not even an amnesiac assassin. Steve takes a deep breath. "Okay, then. See you later?"

Clint sobers suddenly. "You will be all right. He will be alright. One way or another." He gathers up his gear and leaves with his customary salute. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
 _Clint_

When he opens the door, all is quiet. Clint wonders if Barnes is still in the bathroom. He peers around the wall separating the living area from the bedroom. Barnes is huddled on the bed, so still that Clint knows he's not asleep; he knows the difference between the stillness of sleep and the tension of trying to make someone think you are asleep. He sits on the chair and settles in to wait for Barnes to give up. 

It takes a while, but he finally moves, turning towards Clint. "Who are you?"

"Clint Barton."

"Am I supposed to know you?"

"I'd be a dead assassin if people knew me."

Barnes looks at him. "The woman, Natasha, says that you are not here to kill me."

"If I were here to kill you, you'd be dead." He sees the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. "Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll see about getting you out of here for a walk. You look like you're a little stir-crazy."

"I'm not crazy!" He snatches up the clothes and holds them to his chest. 

Actually, Clint thinks he might be, but he's willing to stick it out for Cap. "You may not be crazy, but you have to be sick of looking at these walls, that's all I meant." He tries to keep his voice gentle, like he does when he talks to Natasha when she's in one of her dark moods. He's sees the same terror, the same bone-deep weariness in this man as he's seen in her. "It's all right. I've got this," he says quietly. 

Barnes gets off the bed. Clint notices he's holding that metal arm close to his chest. "Does that hurt?" he asks. 

Barnes nods. "I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be 'used to it,' " Clint replies. "Maybe we can help with that."

The idea seems utterly foreign to Barnes. He looks at Clint like he's trying to catch him in a lie. Clint just meets that study calmly. "Why would you do that?" Barnes asks.

Clint runs a hand over his hair. "Because we're the good guys? Because we want to help? Or maybe we just don't like to see you suffering through no fault of your own."

Barnes is looking at him like _he's_ the crazy one. He seems baffled by that statement. "You trust me enough to let me out of this place?"

"If you trust us to help you, yes." He can hear Phil's sigh of exasperation in his mind. Isn't that the deal he gave Natasha years ago? It worked for her. "Clean up and I'll see about getting out of here."

Barnes nods and takes the clothes into the bathroom. Clint hopes he didn't make any false promises. "JARVIS, connect me to Tony. It's important."

The next minute, Tony is on the intercom. "What's up?"

"I want to get Barnes out of Banner's quarters. I think he needs help."

"What kind of help? The kind that will leave us all dead?"

"No. He's been in nearly constant pain from his prosthetic for God knows how long. Maybe if we can help that, he'll decide we're the good guys."

"This is a bad idea," Stark sighs. 

"What can happen? He's surrounded by Cap, two assassins, a house that is nearly Sentient, and Iron Man."

"Two words. 'Super-soldier.'"

"Tony … please. This could be our only chance to reach this guy. He's in pain, what more do you need to know?"

Tony sighs. "JARVIS, bump up in-house security. Isolation grids in the kitchen, the office and my lab. Windows and doors armed."

"Of course, sir."

"Okay, Barton. You can bring our guest up, but anything he breaks, including my nose, is on your tab. And … you have to be the one to tell Natasha." 

That makes paying for Tony's nose sound like a sweet deal. Clint goes up the stairs and knocks on Natasha's door. She opens it and looks out. "What's wrong?" She can sense his unease despite his best efforts to disguise it. 

"Tasha … I'm bringing Barnes up from the cage."

"Really? Did your death wish kick in? Because I can always do a cognitive readjustment again."

Clint leans against the door jamb and considers his words. "Nat, did you know the guy's in constant pain? I thought if Tony took a look at his prosthesis, he might be able to help."

She snorts delicately. "Pulling the thorn from the lion's paw, Clint?"

"I may not be much, Natasha, but I like to think I have some humanity." 

Natasha lays her hand on his cheek, her expression suddenly soft. "Sometimes, too much, _Moy yastreb._ "

He kisses her palm. " _Ninotchka._ "

"You are ridiculous." She gives him a small shove. "Go, see what your humanity gets you with the Winter Soldier."

Clint isn't sure he wants to find out. _Phil, where are you when I need you?_ , he sighs. "JARVIS, where is Captain Rogers?"

"Captain Rogers is in his room."

Clint knocks and Steve answers. He was obviously resting; his hair is mussed and he's blinking into the light. "What's wrong?"

"Come on, Sleeping Beauty. The dragon is going to be let out of his cage."

"What?"

"Barnes. I'm bringing him up." 

"No. It's not safe."

"For who? For us or for him? Damn it, Cap, he's your friend -- you've said so."

"He doesn't remember that."

"Does it matter? His prosthetic is an instrument of torture. It has been for years."

"What?" Steve pales. "I didn't know."

"None of us did. I think giving Tony a chance to help him might be the key to breaking the effects of the brainwashing. Are you in?"

"I think I'd better be. Let me get the shield."

Clint sighs in exasperation. "You really want to do that? He sees it as a weapon, not as protection. I'm trying to keep things as neutral as possible."

"Now you know what's best?"

"Cap, you _asked_ for my help. He opened up enough to tell me something that leaves him vulnerable. I really don't think this is pretense, and if it is, Tony has the tech to make containment instantaneous if we need it. If you want to help Barnes recover, you have to show him that you still trust him. Without that, he's just another broken asset." 

Steve nods. In jeans and a t-shirt, he doesn't look like Captain America. He looks like a guy you'd like to have a beer with. "Let's go."

_TBC_


	7. A Little Insane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is simple, particularly emotions when dealing with the Winter Soldier, yet the team comes together to help Bucky return to the man he once was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! Another chapter, albeit a short one due to being on vacation. I promise the next one will be longer. I just wanted to keep to my posting schedule as promised. This isn't my best chapter, but it will advance the story.

_A little out of touch, a little insane,  
It's just easier than dealing with the pain_

_Bucky_

They gave him clothes; a black t-shirt, dark gray fatigues, his boots have been cleaned. He shaves with the electric razor, combs water through his hair and wonders if they will let him have something to tie it back. The face in the mirror is one he hasn't seen in a long time. There is no mask, no dark kohl surrounding his eyes. He looks _human_. It's an illusion, of course. When he strips off his old shirt, the scars of many surgeries, many injuries, the ugly joining of metal and flesh tell him that he is a monster. Every movement reminds him that he became this through pain, that there is no redemption for him. He is _chernyy serdtse_ a lost soul.

There is a knock on the door; just a soft tap before it slides open. The man called Barton steps inside. He looks at him and gives a nod. "Ready?"

"Why are you doing this? You don't trust me."

"You're right, we don't. You don't trust us, either. So, I guess we're even." He gestures to the door. "After you."

He follows Barton. As he walks, he is aware of a faint tingle across his skin, like a web of very slight electric shocks. "What is that?" he asks. 

"Force field. Ignore it."

"I don't like it."

Barton looks over his shoulder. "You get used to it."

"You feel it, then?"

"It's protection."

"From what?"

"Right now, that's not on your 'need to know' list."

James falls silent. _James_ still sounds foreign on his tongue, but Yasha doesn't seem any better. He's lost his identity, his name, his past, his future. All that exists is the present, and that faint brush of electricity against his skin. He looks around him with interest. The hall is wide, too wide and high for two men. Barton stops in front of an elevator. The doors slide open and they step inside. He expected the electricity to stop, but it continues even after the doors close. He shivers.

Barton looks at him. "Are you cold?"

"No."

"You probably need some hot food. You like soup?"

He shrugs. "I will eat it if you put it in front of me."

The doors open. "That's not what I asked. I asked if you liked it -- completely different question. Tony will give you anything you want as long as it's in his store of foods. There isn't much he doesn't have."

James thinks, he tries to remember what he likes. "Potatoes. Mashed potatoes with … butter?" His voice sounds uncertain. Barton nods.

"Hey, JARVIS. Make some mashed potatoes with butter. We can do that, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Aww, J-man, don't call me 'sir.' We had an agreement, right?"

"Very good, Master Barton."

Clint rolls his eyes at James, who can't suppress his soft snort of laughter. He's surprised that he wants to smile back. It's been a very long time since he's shared a moment like that with another person. It makes his chest hurt, but at the same time, it feels warm. 

If Barton is startled by that flash of humanity in him, he doesn't acknowledge it. They step off the elevator into a hall with dark wood walls and polished floors covered by thick carpets. After the light, soothing quarters of the lower level, this feels heavy and oppressive. He wraps his good arm around his middle. Barton looks at him sympathetically. 

"It's kind of gloomy, but Tony left it that way since his parents owned the place. You'd like his house in California - it's a lot brighter and it's got views of the ocean from every room. The air … you just want to take a deep breath, close your eyes, and soak in the sun."

James doesn't know what Barton is talking about. He's only seen the cold waters of the North Atlantic, the frozen lake Baikal in Siberia, the icy steppes and the sere passes of the Hindu Kush, in Afghanistan. He can't imagine the warmth and light Barton is talking about, so he keeps silent, following Barton down another hall to a kitchen. 

There is a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes on the counter, a pool of rich butter melting on the top. James looks at Barton. "You did this?"

"JARVIS did it." When he sees James hesitate, he looks almost sad. "It's okay. It's not poisoned or drugged. I wouldn't do that to you."

James sits down and picks up the spoon set next to the bowl. It figures they wouldn't trust him with a fork. He wouldn't trust them, either. Barton is trying not to watch him, but the furrow between his brows betrays him. James takes a bit of the potatoes on the spoon and tastes it. He tastes milk, sweet butter, salt. They're smooth, with just a few lumps to tell him that they're homemade. 

_He closes his eye, and an image appears; a small, dark-haired woman smiling at him as she sets a plate in front of him. There is a second boy at the table. He's short, thin, and looks like he's been sick a lot. He smiles at James, at the woman. "You don't have to feed me, Mrs. Barnes."_

_"Of course, I do, Stevie. You and Bucky are growing boys." She dimples at him. "I made plenty, so if you want more … "_

The image fades. _Bucky_. He pushes the plate away. "I can't … eat." He wants to cry, to ask who Stevie is, because he should know, but he doesn't. He doesn't know who the woman is, or why they call him, "Bucky."

"I want to go back," he chokes out. His arm hurts, sharp and sickening, and the room starts a slow spin.

"Whoa!" Barton catches him as he tips sideways. "JARVIS, I need some medical assistance here, stat!" He lowers Bucky carefully to the floor and waits for Tony and the others to show up.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

They all arrive at nearly the same time; Natasha, Steve, Tony, and surprisingly, Bruce. Clint looks up at them from the floor. "I'm fine, guys. Hey, Doc. It's good to see you."

Bruce kneels next to Clint. He takes Barnes' pulse. "What happened?"

"You tell me. One minute he was eating mashed potatoes, the next he kind of zoned out on me and collapsed." He looks at Steve. "I swear that's it. I wouldn't … I'd never hurt him, not the way he is now."

"I believe you," Steve says. "Dr. Banner, I think this may have to do with triggering memories that HYDRA forcibly suppressed by using some sort of device to erase his mind whenever his memories started to return."

Bruce scrubs a hand over his face. "Okay, anything else?"

"His arm …" Steve looks faintly sick. "The prosthetic causes him constant pain."

"Let's get him back to my … umm, _his_ quarters so I can do a medical assessment."  
Steve lifts Barnes like he's a featherweight, and carries him to the elevator, followed by Tony and Bruce. Natasha stays Clint. "You shouldn't treat him like a friend."

"Who?"

Natasha's grip tightens. "Him. The Winter Soldier. He's not your friend."

"No shit, Natasha. I'm not stupid. But the guy's in pain, he trying like hell not to show he's scared, and maybe if somebody had bothered to show him even a hint of kindness, he wouldn't have become what he is."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? What about Coulson? What were you before he offered you water and medical care? Before he cut the cuffs off your wrists and bound them up with gauze? I was there, 'Tasha. I saw you break under his kindness -- just like I did. If it worked with us, why not with Barnes?"

Natasha's eyes fill with tears. "I hate you."

"I know. I hate you, too." He kisses her cheek. "Tell me I'm wrong?"

"As usual, your aim is true. Go, I know you want to be there."

"What about you?"

"I'll be in the gym. My shoulder is healed. Somebody has to watch your back."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
When Clint looks in on the others, Barnes is still out, whether from another dose of Tony's drug or the lingering effects of the memories, he isn't sure. Tony is leaning on the dresser, a concerned look on his face, and Steve just looks … shattered. Bruce has stripped off Barnes' tee-shirt, revealing the prosthesis and the ugly scarring where the original amputation took place, and the cross-hatching of tissue around where the the metal arm is joined to the flesh. The arm itself is attached to some sort of harness for support, and the skin around that too, is scarred and inflamed where the harness has chafed it raw. 

"What kind of butcher did this?" Clint mutters. 

Steve answers with a choked, "HYDRA. Red Skull and Arnim Zola." 

Clint has seen Steve angry, but he's never seen him murderous the way he looks now. He's gripping the shield so hard that Clint expects the metal to bend. He can't blame Steve; he's feeling fairly murderous himself. He's been tortured, scarred, had his mind and body taken over, but there had been _reason_ behind every action. Not that it absolved the people (or demigod) who had done those things -- but to cause a man to suffer as Barnes had suffered, for being a good soldier, for fighting to hold on to his humanity, to use him for painful and debilitating experiments because he was 'convenient', that sickened Clint. 

They watch as Bruce gently runs his fingers over the joining of metal and flesh, as he carefully removes the harness. He cleans the abraded skin with antiseptic and covers it with gauze pads, then stands back. "Tony, have you looked at his arm?"

"I haven't had the advantage of being around him when he's unconscious. JARVIS, run a scan please." He takes out a metal rod and holds it over Barnes' prone body, as JARVIS activates an overhead hologram of the scan. He and Bruce stand next to each other, eyes on the display, and Clint can tell from their identical expressions of dismay that the results aren't what they had hoped to find. When the scan is done, Tony sighs. "I'll need some time to work on this. What can we do in the meantime?"

Bruce looks thoughtful. "Right now, nerve blocks will stop the pain, but they will also most likely disable the connections to the arm. He won't be able to use it." He looks at Steve, expecting some sort of reply. 

"He'll take the pain over incapacity," Steve says. He is watching Bucky, seeing the changes in him; the years, the pain, the isolation. Their experiences are oddly parallel, born of ice, injected with serums that have made them nearly invulnerable. Steve has never seen himself as a weapon, never been used as one against his choice. He returned to the world a hero, Bucky returned as a murderer. "Do whatever you can. He doesn't deserve this."

Clint would argue that it's not a matter of deserving anything. Did Phil deserve Loki's spear through his chest? Did Tony deserve the shrapnel tearing at his heart, or Bruce the lethal radiation that made the Hulk? Shit happens and all you can do is try to minimize the effects. It seems he's been doing that all his life. 

"What can we do?" he asks Bruce.

"The harness is clearly part of the problem."

"Something lighter, like a sort of webbing would distribute the weight, which would alleviate the irritation caused by the straps on the harness," Clint suggests. "Tony?"

"I can do that. I don't have all my resources here, but I can improvise." 

"Can you do anything about the pain from the prosthetic itself?" Steve asks Bruce.

"I don't know. Maybe, but I have even less to work with than Tony."

Tony folds his arms across his chest. "Maybe we need to take this to the next level. Anybody up for a trip to New York?"


	8. Walking on Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky doesn't know who or what to trust. He only knows that for some reason these people insist on helping him.

Chapter 8

_Walking on Broken Glass_

They're all a little taken by surprise at Tony's suggestion. It wasn't what they expected, even though it had been part of the original plan. Clint can't help thinking of Phil, wondering if they'll ever see each other again, or if they're going to continue in two separate worlds -- Phil with S.H.I.E.L.D., Clint chasing after the other Avengers. The thought brings him no joy. "What about Phil?" he asks.

Tony gives Clint a narrow-eyed look. "Agent will keep tabs on us. Particularly on you. You should know the man you married better than to think he'll abandon you."

Clint has abandonment issues -- he _knows_ he does. He doesn't want to tell that to Tony. Natasha would understand, but she's isolated herself from them, and he isn't sure why. "I need to talk to Natasha," he says and leaves, even though he feels guilty at walking away from Barnes. He seems to be the only one James trusts. Maybe this was how Phil felt when Clint landed in his care. 

Steve looks at Tony. "I'll stay with him. At least he knows who I am."

"No offense, but every time you hang out with him, he seems to have a memory crisis."

"I won't leave him. Go, take care of what you need to do to get us to New York." He can't help it if it sounds like an accusation instead of a capitulation. He doesn't think taking Bucky to New York is a good idea, but he's outvoted.

"We should give him another dose of Hulk suppressant," Tony says.

"No! If we do that, we'll undo all the trust he has in us, and believe me, it's pretty fragile at this point."

"Don't blame me if he goes all Winter Soldier on the Quinjet, Cap. That's your problem." He turns on his heel and heads out the door. Steve sinks down on the sofa and scrubs his hands over his face. If he got headaches, he'd have one now, but he doesn't. He just feels emotionally worn out. The supersoldier serum didn't do a thing for his emotions. 

There is a light hand on his shoulder and Bruce says softly, "He's awake." Steve looks up. Bucky is watching Bruce, he doesn't seem to realize Steve is there as well. Bruce reaches out and Bucky twitches violently back. 

"I don't know you," Barnes whispers. "Stay away."

"I'm Bruce. I'm a doctor. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Don't touch me!" Bucky's panic is palpable. Steve stays in the background even though his instinct is to rush to Bucky's side. 

"Okay, but let me tell you what I did while you were unconscious." Barnes nods. "I looked at your arm. The harness hurts you?"

Again, a small tilt of the head. "I am used to it."

"Does it feel better?"

Barnes looks at the soft gauze padding. "Yes, thank you."

"I could do more in my lab in New York, at Stark Tower. You've met Tony?'

"I know this is his house." He's wary, and his eyes skate away from Bruce's. He only relaxes slightly when they light on Steve standing in the background.

Steve steps forward. "You can trust Bruce. He's here to help, but in order to do that, we have to go to New York, to Stark Tower." He watches Barnes closely, at the wide, doubtful eyes that give so much away in that hard face. "Do you trust me?"

"No."

Bruce just takes of his glasses and polishes them on his shirt. It's a delaying tactic that Steve has seen time and again with Banner, usually when he's dealing with Tony. He smiles slightly at that and decides now is the time to speak up.

"You ought to trust him. He can help you. He's already helped you. Doesn't your shoulder feel better without the harness digging into it?"

Bucky looks at him, reluctance, hatred and shame warring in his eyes. "Thank you."

Bruce runs a hand through his shaggy hair. "I don't want you to thank me. Just let me help you. I know a lot about pain -- a _lot_. Between Tony's engineering and my medical background, we can stop, or at least minimize, your pain." 

"Why would you want to help me? I am your enemy." Clearly, the idea of compassion is a puzzling one. 

Steve crouches down, bringing himself level with Bucky, because looming over him like a threat is the last thing he wants. "HYDRA is our enemy. _You_ are not my enemy. You had no choice. Hydra took that away from you."

"You don't know what they did to me!"

"Yeah, I do." Steve sighs. "The same thing was done to me. The difference is that it was my decision, the second is that the people who helped me, were good people. They didn't twist me and torture me to fit their needs."

"You don't have _this_ , he lifts the metal arm, then stifles a cry of pain. 

Steve takes his good hand in a firm grip. "We can help you. Let us." He feels the tremor in Bucky's body, but that he even allows that human connection, Steve counts as a win. He lets go before Bucky can break away. "Trust us."

Bucky gives a barely perceptible nod. Bruce, who had been holding his breath, feeling the presence of the Hulk at the edge of his nerves, relaxes. "I can give you something for the pain -- not a narcotic -- a nerve block. It will deaden the nerves connecting the prosthetic to your shoulder. It will also seriously limit the movement of your arm, however."

"Isn't that what you want?" It's nearly a growl, but the tone is so similar to Clint's that instead of alarm, he smiles. 

"If I thought you would hurt us, yes. I don't think you will. Therefore, stopping your pain, even temporarily, is my only intent." 

Bucky licks his lips, gives Steve a nervous glance. "How long will it last?"

"I don't know. Your metabolism is different than a normal man's -- like Steve's. I've found that the serum enhancement works against drugs, so the dosage I give you will not last as long as it would on Clint, for instance. The pain should be blunted for several hours, enough for us to get to New York and my lab and Tony's workshop."

"Then what? You torture me like they did?"

Steve sees the muscles ripple across Bruce's back. "Doc, step out for a minute. Let me talk to Bucky."

Bruce takes a breath and leaves with a whispered, "Thank you."

Bucky's gaze follows Bruce. "Who is he?"

"He's a man with a big problem. You don't want to make him angry or afraid. He's more dangerous than any man you'll ever meet, but he's also the most gentle and caring man you'll ever know."

"You're speaking in riddles."

"None of us are what we seem to be, but that doesn't mean we are your enemies."

"Call him back."

Steve takes a breath. "I swear, if anything happens, if HYDRA comes after you, we will fight to keep you safe."

"I will trust you this much, and no more." 

Steve counts that as a victory. He calls Bruce back into the room. "He'll take the nerve block."

Bruce pulls on surgical gloves and prepares the injection in silence. "Steve, a little help?"

Steve approaches cautiously, he isn't sure what the source of his reluctance is, but touching this man shouldn't be so different than touching Bucky. "What do you need me to do?"

"He has to be perfectly still so I place the block exactly right."

"You can talk to me," Bucky says softly. "I understand perfectly."

Bruce blinks. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. Will you let Steve hold you still?"

Bucky looks at Steve, and for an instant, Steve sees the friend who trust him implicitly in those dark eyes before they shift away. "Yes."

"How do I …?"

"I have to place the injection here. Bruce rests a finger lightly just over the crest of Bucky's shoulder. "Okay?"

Bucky shivers, but he nods. Steve, unsure how to best stay out of Bruce's way, slides behind Bucky, taking his weight against his chest. "This good?"

"Support him upright and move his hair aside." When he is satisfied that Steve's hold is secure he asks them both, "Ready?"

"Yes," Bucky replies. 

Bruce swabs the area well with alcohol. "Try to relax. There will be some pain until the block takes effect, after that, it should be numbed." Bruce gently probes Bucky's shoulder and when he's satisfied he has the correct placement, he inserts the hypodermic and depresses the plunger.

Bucky barely flinches, stiffens slightly and then his body curves back against Steve's. "Doc?"

"I'm all right," Bucky says. "It's … it's gone," he sighs. "The pain."

Bruces shakes his head. "It's not gone, just put to sleep for a while. Hopefully, for as long as three days, but possibly for a shorter period of time. However, I can inject more of the anaesthetic, but not more than once or twice. I don't want to damage the nerve. Tell me if it starts hurting again. At least I'll be able to gauge how your body metabolizes the drug." 

"Thank you." He looks at his arm, unable to move it. "It is heavy." 

"I have a sling." He hands it to Steve, who helps Bucky with his shirt, then maneuvers the prosthetic arm through the sling and settle the wide strap over Bucky's shoulder and neck. 

"Ready to get out of here?"

Bucky's lips twitch. "I'm ready."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

_Bucky_

He doesn't know what to make of these people. He had tried to kill them, and they extended a hand of mercy. He can't remember a time when he was free of pain. He doesn't care if it came at the cost of his arm. He reminds himself that trust is dangerous; that the absence of pain is as much of a danger as it is a relief. Pain fueled his anger, his vigilance; he must remember that or he will be vulnerable and weak when HYDRA comes to claim him. 

And they _will_ come.

Steve is holding the door open for him. He gets up slowly, surprised to be as steady on his feet as he is. He had expected weakness. He had expected betrayal. He doesn't trust these people, but he is learning that they trust him; without coercion, without fear. He doesn't know why -- but he would like to learn. 

**End Part II**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a rough week at work and didn't get as much writing done as I had hoped. Still, I finished a chapter and actually, completed Part II of _I Lived_. The next part will see the team in New York, Clint reuniting with Phil and his team, as HYDRA pursues the man they know as _The Winter Soldier_.


End file.
